


Real Estate Holdings

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Child Loss, Death, F/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-16 10:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5824624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne Fisher and Jack Robinson may have solved some of their differences and embarked on a partnership in more than crime solving, but the times and their individual needs are constantly proving to be obstacles. This story has them navigating a relationship, solving crimes, and working to find a solution to one major problem. How to have a modern relationship in an old fashioned and judgmental world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The space on the bed beside her was clearly unoccupied, though she knew it had been just a few hours earlier. He had a lot of nerve waking her so early, she thought smiling, and stretching lazily.

She considered which it was that she preferred. Waking with him sleeping by her side, or the mornings he woke early, and chose to disturb her rather than slip out quietly.

The days he slipped out quietly, letting her sleep, were nice too.

But, she decided, the mornings he woke her were her favorites. Today it had been soft kisses to the back of her neck and along her shoulder. Her name whispered lovingly in her ear as his warm hands moved slowly over her hips and down her thighs.

He never rushed. Well, not _never_ , but rarely. He moved with deliberation and the same sense of devotion and determination he brought to his work, and to just about every other aspect of his life.  Jack Robinson felt that if something was worth doing, it was worth doing right, and Phryne Fisher was eternally grateful he still thought her worth doing.

She marveled at how something could be so comfortably familiar and wonderfully satisfying at the same time. And fun. He was always great fun.

She knew that he loved waking her early. It served her right, he used to say. Payback for the nights she’d wake him.

What else was a girl to do? She never was one to delay gratification. Her one exception, of course, being him. For him she’d waited. And waited. Enough for a lifetime. What was the point of waiting anymore?

She’d find herself coming through her front door at some unholy hour. Sometimes she’d even make it to the base of the staircase, but the thought of going up to an empty bed had her turning, and heading quickly out the back door, and down the garden path that connected the residences.

He’d scold her, saying that being a landlord did not allow her to enter a tenant’s premises at any time of the day or night. By rights he should file a complaint, or arrest her for unlawful entry. In the end he always found other ways to make her pay.

His idea of reparations had not discouraged her behavior in the least.

She rose now from bed, and pulled her silk robe around her, tying the sash as she strolled toward the window. It was Saturday, mid-morning, and a day off for him. She knew exactly where she’d find him. How she loved that thought.

* * *

 

This arrangement of theirs had been a stroke of genius for which she often congratulated herself. It had been more successful and satisfying than either of them could have imagined, much like their partnership. And, just like everything else, it hadn’t come easy. There had been issues to overcome. Her independence, and his pride were probably the largest deterrents to his accepting the arrangement.

“What happens when there is another, Phryne? How am I to deal with that?”

“I’ll tie a scarf to the back balcony,” she’d said sarcastically. “Or perhaps we can work out something with the lights? A kind of morse code, warning you to keep your distance.”

“Is that suppose to be funny?” he’d said, bluntly, “It’s not.”

“I didn’t offer a serious response, because it’s a ridiculous premise.”

She’d tried to make a joke of it, because she’d been hurt by his comment. He’d just stubbornly shook his head.

“It’s a concern,” he’d said.

“Not of mine, Jack. How long must it be before you accept that I have no plans to _‘entertain_ ’ anyone else?” she’d said, an unwanted bitterness creeping into her tone.

“That could change,” he’d said, quietly, looking down at his hands. He’d promised her he’d be okay with it when it happened. He was quite sure now that he wouldn’t be, that he’d never be okay again, should it happen.

“It’s not likely. And not without warning, darling,” she’d said, approaching him and placing her palm on the side of his cheek, waiting for him to look at her before continuing. “I told you when we began that there would be no overlap. I would never take another lover before talking with you. And I no longer anticipate ever needing to have that talk. I wouldn’t suggest this if I did.”

She’d long been keeping an eye on the properties, with an idea toward acquiring them. She was aware of their history. The terrace houses adjacent to her home had been built in the late 1800‘s by a successful Melbourne ironmonger. They had been the beginning of his residential real estate holdings, and his family had lived in one for several years before building the place she now called home.

Phryne had begun to think of herself as the custodian of her beautiful house. It was a lovely example of the Italianate architectural style that had experienced a boom in popularity a few decades back. She felt a responsibility to preserve it for history. The idea of bringing the three properties back under common ownership, in order to ensure they were all kept in good repair, appealed to her.

When it began to look like Dot and Hugh would marry, the idea became even more intriguing. She hated the thought of Dot leaving her, but she knew it was only right that Hugh and Dot have a place of their own. Dot was born to run her own household.

In the end, someone else’s misfortune had worked to her advantage. The economic collapse of 1929 had put the current owner in dire straits and, knowing of her interest in the properties, he had approached her about selling. His only requirement was that he be allowed to stay in one of the homes until his move to Sydney to join his brother in business.

She’d paid a fair price, but less than she might have a few years earlier. All in all, she was very pleased with the purchase.

She’d considered offering the larger of the two homes to Dot and Hugh as a belated wedding gift, but knew Hugh would be more receptive if he were paying rent. A lease was signed at a monthly rate that the young couple could comfortably afford, especially with the raise in pay she’d given Dot, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins had taken up residence.

Soon after, the fence between the properties came down, and a garden path was completed. Dot could make the journey between home and work in less than a minute.

Phryne made a point of keeping her distance. When Dot was at home, she was off duty. As the years went by, the lines blurred some, and Phryne could often be found having tea in her friend’s tidy and homey little kitchen.

It wasn’t until the original owner was ready to move that she’d thought of Jack. They’d been together for nearly eight months at that time, and things were going extremely well. It was an interesting idea, but she’d dismissed it as too much, too soon.

The thought never really left her, and she found herself accepting only short term tenants, never signing more than a six month lease with anyone.

She decided to broach the subject when the third of her short term tenants was coming to the end of his lease. She schemed about how to raise it with Jack. She decided it would be best to appeal to his generous nature and frame it as a favor to her, saying he’d be providing her with a stable and reliable tenant.

She imagined the entire conversation in her head, trying to anticipate his objections and prepare a rebuttal for them to have at the ready. She would wait until they had a quiet night, between investigations. She’d invite him to dinner and casually bring up her need to find a new tenant. It was a good plan.

As often happens with even the best laid plans, it fell apart. Her proposal had burst from her in an uncharacteristic fit of frustration. She’d been naive to think it would go smoothly. Nothing with Jack had ever been easy. Never easy, but always worthwhile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a look back at the earlier months of Phryne and Jack's romantic relationship, and how they are weaving it into their work and daily lives.

Jack woke to find Phryne sleeping by his side. He was slipping. What did this say about his detective skills that she’d entered his home and bed without him waking? Another thought, possibly more alarming, was why she hadn’t awakened him.

He glanced around the room and saw the shimmering dress haphazardly dropped just inside the door to his room. He imagined he’d find the shoes and stockings further down the hall. Her lock pick set was probably on the table inside his front door. One of these days she’d get arrested, and he’d be at a loss to explain the situation to his superiors.

“Phryne?”

He spoke softly, his voice still rough from disuse overnight. She slept on her side, her back to him. He ran his fingertips gently down her arm, and then leaned in to press a kiss to her shoulder. She didn’t stir. Perhaps he should just let her sleep. He had to get to work, and they could talk later.

He moved carefully to get out of bed without waking her, but before he got too far he felt her hand on his arm.

“Jack.”

Her eyes were still closed and she hadn’t moved from her position, other than to reach for him, but her lips had curved into a small smile.

“Good morning,” he rumbled. “Where did you come from?”

“Oh, everywhere and nowhere,” she said rolling over to face him.

She clearly hadn’t washed her face before going to sleep and remnants of last night’s kohl liner was smeared about her eyes giving them a smoky look that was very sexy. If there was ever a time that she didn’t look good, he’d yet to see it.

“Did you have a good night?” he asked, laying back down by her side and propping himself up on one elbow.

“I did,” she said.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I was quite proud that I had for once been successful in sneaking up on you. I was ready to poke you, and crow in triumph, but you were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t have the heart to disturb you.”

Instead, she’d laid her head on the pillow next to his and watched him sleep, unable to tear her eyes from him until she drifted off herself.

“Besides,” she said, “you’ve had a rough week. You needed the rest.”

“No rougher than yours,” he said.

It had been a difficult case, with a life on the line, requiring long days and nights with little, to no sleep. It was one of those investigations that made him especially glad to have her by his side. Not just for her ability to operate slightly outside the law, and the valuable insight she provided, but for her companionship as well.

Before her, he’d had no idea what it meant to have a true partner. Someone that saw the same things he saw, and understood the impact they could have. Someone he needn’t explain things to, or hide things from. They could sit together at the end of the day and not say a word, yet somehow, it helped to lift the weight off his shoulders and make the next day easier.

“True,” she said, “But I don’t have to write it all up and explain it to my boss. I don’t have to deal with the warden, and the courts, and all the other red tape. I get to take myself off to the Green Mill and dance until I forget.”

“You never forget,” he said.

“No, but it helps. Especially when I can then break into the home of a gorgeous copper and ravish him in his bed,” she purred, cupping his cheek with her hand. He nuzzled her palm.

“But that’s just it,” he said. “I’m feeling let down. There was no ravishing. And don’t try to tell me I slept through it.”

She laughed. “Believe me, it was my intent, but when I saw you sleeping, I just wanted to curl up beside you. It was enough.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, reaching over to brush her hair from her face before leaning in to kiss her softly on the mouth. She deepened the kiss, enjoying the rough feel of his whiskers, slipping her tongue between his lips, placing her hand upon his chest, and wishing he were not wearing those damn pajamas.

He pulled back, looking at her with hooded, darkened eyes.

“Besides, there’s always morning,” she said, sliding her hand up around his neck and pulling him back to her. He hummed into her mouth, letting her press against him for a long moment before pulling away again.

“Unfortunately not this morning,” he said. “That red tape you spoke of still awaits me.”

He was out of bed before she had time to object, and she flopped back, disappointed.

“It was wonderful to wake up and find you here,” he said, sincerely. “I can’t imagine a better start to my day.”

“I’ll help you do more than imagine, if you’ll come back to bed,” she said seductively.

“I wish I could,” he said, adding, “you know I do,” when she gave him a doubtful pout. “I’m meeting with the Deputy Commissioner this afternoon, and I need to have everything in order.” He bent to kiss the top of her head. “And, next time you visit me, you really should just knock.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“One of these days you’ll be seen, and get yourself arrested.”

“If you’d agree to stay at my place, I wouldn’t have to sneak in here,” she said.

She often wanted to see him after a night out, and had thought he could just as easily sleep at her place as his, and then be there when she came home. It was a perfect solution in her eyes.

“We’re not talking about this again,” he said. “I believe I’ve made myself clear on the subject.”

“A-bun-dant-ly,” she said, drawing the word out and rolling her eyes as he walked across the hall to the bath.

The idea was ridiculous. Did she think he had no pride left? He’d made his fair share of compromises to have what they had, and he didn’t regret them. But, watching her dress up and go out for the evening, while he headed up to her room to await her return like some lap dog? That was never going to happen.

If she lived alone he’d still never do it, but he couldn’t possibly face Mr. Butler, a man he respected, and whose respect he wanted in return. And, while it wasn’t as much of a concern anymore, in the early days, the fear that she might not return home alone had been more than enough to dissuade him, even without the other considerations.

Finally, he had to admit, he liked it when she showed up at his little bungalow after a night out. It was risky, what with nosy Mrs. Filson next door, but worth the risk. To know that she’d been thinking of him, missing him, and wanting him enough to leave her other admirers, was heady, and he usually sought to make it worth her while. To ensure she’d come again.

He didn’t know what to make of the fact that she hadn’t woken him last night, but it was strangely sweet. There was something comfortable and domestic about it that he liked very much. If he had his way, he’d be falling asleep with her each night and waking at her side every morning.

When he returned from the bath she was fast asleep again. He pulled the covers up over her shoulders, lifting them just a bit to get a peek at her naked body. Her lovely, porcelain skin, those pale pink nipples and that dark patch of hair between her thighs had him reconsidering the importance of paperwork. He thought himself an incredibly strong man to have been able to get out of bed this morning. That, or an extremely foolish one.

Extremely foolish, he decided when he’d made it out his front door and saw the Hispano-Suiza parked somewhat haphazardly at the curb directly in front of his house. He’d have to speak to her. She was getting careless.

Jack thought about speaking to her all morning. Speaking to her, touching her, kissing her, and thrusting himself into her with a force that took her breath away. At least the case was finished and she wouldn’t be popping in and perching upon his desk. He should be able to get something done.

He finally settled into a groove and got the paperwork sorted. He spoke to the prosecutor, assuring the man that he would be available for the trial. He dealt with a scuffle in the cells and had to chastise a young, green constable for having placed two members of rival gangs together. He stepped out briefly for lunch but was back at his desk in less than half an hour.

The late afternoon meeting with his Deputy Commissioner went well. His superior was pleased to have the latest case solved quickly. It had been the brazen kidnapping of the daughter of a high-profile, local businessman. The girl had been recovered safely, if somewhat bruised, and her kidnappers were captured and behind bars.

“I understand Miss Fisher was once again involved in the investigation,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Jack replied. He found it best to offer as little information regarding Phryne as possible. He would answer the questions asked, but try not to provide more than necessary.

“How is it she comes to be involved in so many cases at City South, specifically, your cases, Robinson?”

“Miss Fisher operates as a private investigator. Quite a good one I’ve come to learn. I have the greatest respect for her abilities. She is often asked to investigate delicate matters, usually by those among the upper class. They see her as a peer who will be discreet in her inquiries.”

“And she has no trouble involving the police in her client’s matters?”

“When it merits,” Jack said. “We are fortunate in that she has a strong moral code, and if she finds evidence of a crime or injustice, she will not hesitate to bring any pertinent information to the police, regardless of who it might expose.”

“As I understand it, she usually brings this information to you.”

He was fishing, Jack knew. There had always been rumors, but these last few months, since he and Phryne had begun seeing each other on a more personal level, there was now evidence to back up the rumors. They’d been photographed around town, having dinner or going to a show, and Phryne had brought Jack to more than one society event.

“Miss Fisher and I have formed something of a working partnership. When she first set up shop, some of her early cases overlapped with my investigations. She found that she could trust me, and has since brought some things to my attention. It’s proved good for the department, sir, as our closed-case rate will attest.”

“Hmm.”

The Deputy Commissioner looked down at the report in front of him. The one Jack had prepared. Jack could see the wheels turning in the man’s head. The next few minutes would be crucial. Would the Deputy Commissioner choose to pull the thread, and try to unravel the relationship between one of his best men and a nosy socialite that was proving to be a rather valuable asset? Or, would he turn a blind eye to keep up a conviction rate that went a long way toward making him look good, and could only help his own career?

He closed the folder containing the report and tapped once on the desk. Jack held his breath.

“Well, Jack, I can see that you have everything well in hand. Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you sir,” Jack replied. He left the office quickly, waiting until he was outside to breathe a sigh of relief.

On the walk back to City South Jack thought of Phryne. She really was an amazing woman and he was unbelievably proud of her accomplishments. He’d been prepared to defend her further to his superior, but was glad not to have had to. Their work together spoke for itself.

When he came through the doors of the station he found Mrs. Collins sitting and waiting, presumably for her husband.

“Good evening, Mrs. Collins,” he said, smiling broadly. He was extremely fond of Dorothy Collins, a highly intelligent and formidable young woman in her own right. “Are you waiting for Hugh?”

“Yes, Inspector,” she said, smiling shyly.

Jack glanced at the clock, it was after six. His senior constable was still at his post behind the front desk despite his shift having ended ten minutes ago.

“Collins, you needn’t have waited for me to return,” Jack said. “Especially not if you and Mrs. Collins have plans.”

“It’s no trouble, sir,” Hugh said. “I had some things of my own to finish up, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t have need of me.”

“Where are the two of you headed tonight? If I may ask,” Jack said.

“To dinner and the pictures,” Dot offered. “It’s been awhile since we’ve had a night out, Hugh’s been so busy lately.”

She caught herself and gasped in embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean to imply you’ve been overworking him, Inspector,” she stammered, “I know the work is important, just like mine and Miss Phryne’s, and that you work just as hard.”

Jack laughed. “Please don’t apologize,” he said. “I regret as much as you the lack of time off from the job.”

He turned to Hugh. “Why don’t you leave whatever it is you’re working on until tomorrow, or give it to someone else, and go show your wife a nice time this evening, Collins.”

Hugh was still finding it hard to get used to his status as a Senior Constable, and to this new Detective Inspector Robinson. His boss was still as intense and driven as ever when working an investigation, but Hugh had noticed some subtle changes in the last several months.

Inspector Robinson was much more likely to leave his desk at a reasonable hour, sometimes without having finished the paperwork on a case. He smiled more and laughed more easily, and he was often telling Hugh to go home to his wife. Even when a call came in toward the end of a shift, unless it was something big, like a suspicious death, the Inspector would send Hugh home, and take another constable out with him.

“Thank you, sir,” Hugh said, smiling at his bride.

Jack headed back to his office, waving his hand in dismissal. He had a phone call to make. He was hoping to find a certain someone free for the evening. Hugh wasn’t the only one wanting to show his girl a nice time tonight.

She answered the phone herself, always a good sign, it meant there was a chance that Mr. Butler was out for the evening. He found his body reacting to the thought of being alone with her, and tried to check himself.

“Jack!” she said, “how nice to hear from you. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

The sound of her voice did nothing to calm him. Instead it brought images from the morning back to mind. Her sleepy eyes and bed tousled hair. The feel of her lips on his, and the taste of her tongue. Picking up her dress from the floor and running his hands over the soft silk, collecting her stockings from the hallway, along with her shoes and bag and arranging everything neatly at the foot of the bed for her while she slept. Lastly, the image of her naked body in his bed, under his sheets, swam in his mind’s eye. He swallowed hard.

“And I you,” he said, his voice dropping even lower than usual. “I find I’ve done little else today. I was hoping that you might be free tonight.”

“As it happens, I am. What did you have in mind?”

“I think it’s best not said over the telephone. Would it be convenient for me to stop by?”

“You have me intrigued Inspector. And should you wish to stop by, I assure you it will be convenient, and welcome. If you hurry, you could be here in ten minutes,” she said, an unmistakable invitation in her tone.

A warmth spread through his belly and settled in his groin.

“Five minutes,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story bounces back from present to past a bit. I hope the transitions aren't confusing. I hope to also convey a small sense of how the characters are adjusting and navigating changes in their lives and relationships.
> 
> And, the next chapter might get a little smutty.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers a jump in time and growth in the continuing relationship between Jack and Phryne. It starts out a bit smutty, hopefully not gratuitously so. 
> 
> If that's not your thing, there is a line break that starts the next section. The first part can be skipped without losing anything too important.

Phryne hung up the phone feeling uncharacteristically giddy. Jack had never been so brazen in a phone call before. He hadn’t said anything that couldn’t have been overheard, and taken as fairly innocent, but it was right on the edge of suggestive. If this was a result of their innocently sleeping side by side the previous night, she decided to keep him waiting more often.

She rushed to her bedroom to make herself ready for his arrival, brushing her hair, and touching a drop of perfume to her décolletage. She decided to forgo applying any more lipstick. It wasn’t likely to remain long anyway, if things went as she hoped.

She grabbed the clamshell case from her drawer and headed to the bath. If that seemed presumptuous, she didn’t care. Things were going too well to risk complications.

When she opened the door to him, Jack’s first thought was that she looked beautiful. His second was that she wore a skirt. She looked fantastic in trousers, but a skirt allowed much easier access. He was vaguely alarmed by these thoughts, but he'd been too indulgent with his imagination all day, and his brain hadn't received its fair share of blood, leaving it to operate at a somewhat diminished capacity.

She barely had time to close the door before she found herself in his arms, his mouth hard on hers as he backed her up against the door. Somehow he’d already shed his overcoat and it lay on the floor behind him, along with his hat. He pressed his weight against her, his knee pushing between her thighs.

She arched back, giving him better access to her throat as she reveled in the intensity of his kiss and the feel of his hands upon her.

“Mr. Butler?” he gasped, in between sucking and nipping at her neck.

“Phryne Fisher, actually,” she giggled, pushing his suit coat off his shoulders. He leaned back to let it fall, but kept his pelvis tight to hers, pinning her firmly to the door.

“You know what I meant,” he said. His eyes were as dark as the night sky, and there was something almost feral in his voice.

Her own eyes widened and he saw in them surprise and excitement and, unexpectedly, a tiny flash of fear. He pulled back a little, tilting his head slightly, watching her.

“Mr. Butler is out for the evening,” she said, taking a small step forward, and running her hands along his arms, now covered only by his shirtsleeves.

She thought about her next move. This was the point where she would normally take charge, moving to free herself and regain control. She didn’t like the powerless feeling of being pinned, a wall at her back, with no escape.

At one time it had been exciting, to be so wanted by a man that he couldn’t wait to have her, but later, it had felt too much like domination.

Jack was still very close. His breath coming fast and she could see his pulse pounding in neck. He raked his eyes over her and licked his lips, but didn’t make a move toward her. His hands remained stationary, trembling slightly on her hips.

Even now, when he seemed more desperate for her than she’d ever seen him, he held back, taking his cue from her. She smiled slightly, her heart fluttering in her chest.

Her hands moved to his waistcoat and he watched as she made quick work of the buttons and pushed it off to join the growing pile on the floor. She loosened his tie, pulling it from the collar and undid two or three buttons, leaning in to kiss the hollow at the base of his throat. His skin was hot and slightly salty. His hands tightened their grip on her hips and he swayed toward her. The need emanating from him was almost overwhelming. She thought about dragging him upstairs, but her own need was growing and the idea of Jack, unbridled, sent chills up her spine.

Phryne gently pushed his hands down and away from her hips, caressing the pulse point in his wrist with her thumbs for a moment before releasing them. Reaching up under her skirt, she removed her silk panties, his eyes following her every move. She ran an open palm over the front of his trousers, delighting in the way he met her gaze and drew in a long, ragged breath. 

She leaned back against the door again, drawing him with her by his braces before pushing them off his shoulders, and spreading her legs to make room for him between her thighs. She kissed him hungrily and felt him lean into her, pinning her once again to the door. His hands roamed up her waist, over her ribcage, brushing the sides of her breasts and raising her arms up above her head. Keeping his pelvis tight to hers, he leaned his upper body back and tugged her shirt from the waistband of her skirt, pulling it up and off of her, before dipping his head to suckle a breast.

The feel of the slippery smooth silk stretched over her firm, hardened nipple was an incredible sensation, but he wanted her flesh in his mouth, and roughly pushed the camisole out of his way. She pushed him back and he reluctantly complied,  so she could remove it. He cupped her breasts a bit roughly, his thumbs massaging the nipples, then slid his hands down to her thighs as far as he could reach. He began rucking up her skirt carelessly, at an almost frantic speed.  Her hands moved to his trousers, unbuttoning the front so they fell slightly down his hips and fumbled, trying to draw him out with shaking hands.

With her skirt up around her hips, he slid his hands under her thighs and lifted her slightly from the floor, moving between her thighs and pushing into her with a power that forced the air from her lungs. He made a sound, like a growl, and laid his forehead against the door. She hooked her legs over his hips, wrapping them around his thighs, pulled him closer, and he began to move, using his hands to rock her along with the rhythm he set.

Her head fell back against the door with a thud. She’d forgotten how good this could feel. She wrapped her arms around his neck pulling her chest to his, wishing she'd had time to remove his shirt. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. She dropped a few frantic kisses over his neck and then laid her head against his shoulder, letting herself go, giving in to him so he could take what he needed.

The way she clung to him, with the door firmly at her back, left his hands free to roam over her. He'd never felt anything like it before and was trying to hold on, to make it last. It was primal and base and made him feel powerful. He ran a hand up into her hair, cradling the base of her skull.

"Come here," he ordered, turning her head to capture her mouth in a violent merging of lips and tongues. She responded in kind, biting his lip and gripping his shoulders so tightly he could feel her nails digging in through his shirt. 

It wasn’t in her nature to remain passive for long. The way his pelvis pressed against her in just the right spot with each thrust, and his complete abandon, had her climbing. She knew it wouldn't take much more. She arched her back and put one hand behind his neck, pulling him down to her breasts, and was rewarded not just with his mouth on her, but the gorgeous sensation of him driving deeper inside her. Pinned as she was, she couldn’t move much, but she tightened her thighs around him and ground against him, creating an incredibly pleasurable friction for them both.

“Oh, God, Phryne!” he moaned, looking up, into her eyes. She wound her hands up into his hair, tugging at it and keeping him there. She wanted to see his eyes the moment he came undone. She squeezed her thighs tighter around him, his mouth dropped open and he let out a guttural cry, gripping her and holding her tight to him.  He thrust against her, pressing her back to the door and shuddering climax washed over her. As she pulsed, and clenched around him, she felt him come with her.

He held her a few moments longer and then lowered her, gently setting her feet on the floor. She swayed slightly and clung to him until she felt steady again. It was over in a matter of minutes. It had been frantic and intense and she was still reeling slightly from the aftershock.

Phryne was naked from the waist up, but still wore her stockings and heels. Her crumpled skirt had fallen and once again covered her legs. She leaned back against the door, breathing heavily. 

Jack looked deliciously disheveled, his hair a mess, his shirt half undone, his braces hanging loose, his trousers open, and slung low on his hips. If she wasn't so shaken, she'd have dragged him straight up the stairs.

He stepped back from her and went to close up his trousers and make himself presentable again. Then he bent to pick her shirt and underthings up from the floor, handing them to her and half-turning away. He chanced a brief glance at her, watching as she pulled the shirt over her head and patted her hair a bit. They were silent, neither of them yet able to make their brain function well enough for speech.

Jack felt chagrined, and slightly horrified to have taken her in the doorway of her home like that. He’d never suffered such a loss of control before.

Finally, he cleared his throat, “Phryne, I...” She cut him off.

“Jack Robinson, if you say you’re sorry, I will throw you out the door this instant.”

He met her eyes. There was no rebuke, and more importantly, no shock or fear in them. She looked content. His lips curled into a shy, but somewhat self-satisfied smirk as he bent to pick up his overcoat and hat, hanging them on the rack. She picked up his waistcoat, tie and jacket, draped them over one arm, then took his hand, leading him into the kitchen.

“I hope you’re hungry. Mr. Butler left supper for us in the warmer,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him with a beatific smile. “I am suddenly famished.”

 

* * *

 

Jack was just contemplating dinner when he heard the knock.

“Miss Fisher!” he said, opening the door and smiling broadly. “I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow!”

“I finished my case early,” she said. His smile was genuine, but she didn’t miss the way his eyes darted past her, and out to the street in front of his house.

“I took a cab, Jack,” she said irritably, pushing past him into the house and dropping her overnight bag near the table inside the door. “Should I have had them drop me around the corner as well?”

Jack shut the door and turned, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, dropping his head to her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, darling. I am very glad to see you, it’s just that Mrs. Filson..”

“should mind her own business,” she finished for him, peevishly. “Honestly Jack, you’re an adult. You are allowed to entertain guests in your home.”

“You’re right. Hang Mrs. Filson,” he said pulling her closer and curling around her back. “The one person I most enjoy entertaining is right here, and I couldn’t be happier.”

“Nice try,” she said, wriggling out of his grasp, but she turned and smiled at him despite it all. “Come here and greet me properly, Inspector. I’ve missed you too much to squabble.”

Later, she sat by the fire, her feet curled up under her, in the chair he’d come to think of as hers. He handed her a tumbler of whiskey and took the seat by her side.

“Tell me about your case. Were you able to bring the wayward nephew to heel?”

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “He’s quite the snake charmer. But, I recovered the emeralds before he pawned them, and impressed upon him just how lucky he is that his aunt loves her brother.”

“You couldn’t convince her to tell his father about the theft?”

“No, but she has promised to, should it ever happen again. Domestic cases are the worst, Jack,” she said, taking a pull on her drink. “The boy is a cad, she should have turned him over to the police, but she didn’t want to cause a rift. _Family_ ,” she snorted, derisively.

“Sounds familiar,” he said. She pulled a face. He knew when not to push it.

"You know, not that long ago, I'd have found him far more interesting," she said. 

"Really? The petty thief part wouldn't have bothered you?"

"Not so petty, actually. Those emeralds were quite valuable. But I doubt I'd have gotten to know him well enough to discover his thieving tendencies. I'm sure it wouldn't have come up in conversation. Not that there'd have been much of that anyway."

He supposed he deserved this, what with his idiocy about her being seen by the neighbors, and then the implied crack about her family.

"If your intent is to make my imagination run wild and suffer whenever you're away, I assure you, I already do. Suffer, I mean. Purely from your absence. I try not to think about anything else," he said.

"That's probably best, Jack," she said with a devilish grin.

He didn't really worry about her and other men. He knew she would never be so cavalier about it if she'd taken another lover. He trusted her to be honest with him.

Phryne smiled. She wasn't lying when she'd said the young man would have been her type not long ago. It was still odd to her how much that had changed. She still loved flirting, and even felt the occasional, powerful physical reaction. She wasn't dead, after all. But, she'd promised Jack she'd talk to him first, and no attraction had lasted long enough for that to happen. She'd taking a few men's cards, vaguely promising to be in touch, and sometimes meaning it.

Then she'd see Jack. Either socially or working an investigation, and the other became less interesting. Her partnership with Jack brought so much more to her life than any one, or even two nights, with the most highly skilled lover could. He acted unconcerned about the prospect of her taking another lover, but she knew it would hurt him. Sometimes, the thought of the look in his eyes when she told him was enough to dissuade her, but mostly, she found, she just wasn't that interested.

She glanced around the room, feeling at home, but doubting it had much to do with the surroundings, and everything to do with the man in them.

“Are you happy here, Jack?”

“What do you mean?” Sometimes the way she moved between topics of conversation had his head spinning.

“I mean, is this where you see yourself staying for near, or distant, future?”

He shrugged, looking around. It was just a place to lay his head really, not a home. It felt warmer when she was here, but other than that, it was functional and comfortable. Not much more.

“The rent is right and it’s a short tram ride to the station,” he said.

 _My home is closer,_ she thought, adding that to the mental checklist she was making.

“Why the interest?” he asked, slightly suspicious.

It was in his nature to be suspicious. She would have to be careful here. She shrugged. Waving her hand as though it had been simply an errant thought.

“My tenant is leaving soon, and I’m just considering what makes a desirable property for lease,” she said, vaguely.

“I’ve noticed they don’t seem to stay too long. Wouldn’t it be more profitable to find a longer term tenant?”

“Yes,” she said, “but I’ve yet to find the right one. One that I could see being a good neighbor for Dot and Hugh, and myself.”

“Perhaps another young couple?” he suggested.

 _Or a settled, and respectable single man_ , she thought.

“I don’t know about another couple. I have a horrible image of a menagerie of small children running rampant in my gardens,” she said turning up her nose.

He laughed. Phryne adored Dot and Hugh’s little girl, though Charlotte wasn’t even walking yet, much less running rampant.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find the right fit eventually. Are you hungry?”

“Is that your way of telling me you need to eat, Inspector?”

“You know me well, Miss Fisher.”

They walked the few blocks to a nearby cafe. _The restaurants in my neighborhood are better, and none of them have anything on Mr. Butler,_ she thought, adding that to the checklist.

As they returned to his house, warm from a few glasses of wine and a decent meal, she gripped his arm tightly, glanced next door, and stuck out her tongue, thinking, _no Mrs. Filson either_.

Jack didn’t miss the gesture and chuckled as he unlocked the door to his house. He placed a hand on the small of Phryne’s back and guided her through the door. It was the most natural thing in the world, and he wished he could stop worrying about what the neighbors, or anyone else thought.

He’d never been so happy, and he was ashamed that his worries might hurt the person responsible for his happiness.

He watched her pull off her gloves and hang her hat next to his, on the extra hook he’d put on the wall.

“I love you,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

She looked at him, an open smile on her face, her eyes sparkling.

“Of course I do,” she said.

“I should say it more often,” he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack attend a charity party at Aunt Prudence's residence.

Jack stood on the periphery, where he had an overarching view of the scene but could remain removed from it. He didn’t feel out of place so much as indifferent. He was not one for small talk, which had proved a hindrance to his former wife’s ambitions for him. The ability to make inane and inconsequential conversation with complete strangers was a requirement of achieving the highest positions within the Victorian Constabulary. He could have managed it if he’d wanted to, at least that’s what Rosie always said. She wasn’t wrong.

He’d much prefer spending an evening in the cells, chatting with Elsie while she sobered up. At least that would be real. That would not, however, afford him the privilege of watching the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher in her element.

It was the one thing he loved about these events. Watching her be the person her title implied. The person society expected her to be, but on her own terms, as always.

She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room, yet other women didn’t dare reveal their claws. Instead, they wished to be counted among her friends, and many, he suspected, wanted to be her, if only they could. People simply wanted to be around her.

He put it down to her uncanny ability to be utterly interested and invested in whoever stood before her at any given moment. It could be a dirty orphaned child, or the heir to English throne. As far as she was concerned, they were on equal footing. Neither held any more right to their place on this earth than the other. But, she didn’t suffer fools, and could put a boor in his place at ten paces.

He could watch her all night, and usually did.

Right now she was dancing with a younger man. A bit of a dandy from the looks of him. The quick glance she tossed at Jack, told him she found the boy ridiculous. And a boy he was, barely into his twenties, Jack guessed. How he loved being privy to the inner workings of her brain. Not that he thought he’d ever unravel the entire mystery that was Phryne Fisher, but that was part of her appeal.

“You can’t just stand here, and watch her all night.”

“Good evening, Dr. MacMillan,” Jack said, “And, I believe I can. No one is paying me the slightest notice.”

He cut a fine figure in formalwear. Mac had observed several women, and a few men, paying him quite a lot of notice, but wasn’t surprised that he was oblivious to it.

“It’s sad, Jack,” Mac said. “Although you do have an intriguing man of mystery quality. Lurking along the edges. Brooding.”

“I’m not brooding,” he said. “And hardly mysterious.”

“Oh, but you are. You’re the object of fascination among this crowd. You don’t seem to understand how odd it is for Phryne to bring someone to one of these events, and you’ve been her guest several times now. Then you stand on the sidelines while she flirts with everything in trousers,” she said. She looked down at her own attire. “Well, almost everything. No one knows what to make of you.”

“Why can’t people mind their own business?”

“Because they lead lives of quiet desperation. They’re horribly bored. Just look at them.”

He laughed. “Perhaps _we_ should dance, Doctor,” he said. “That will give them something to think about.”

“That it would, but I don’t dance. At least not at these things,” she said, knocking back the remainder of her glass of champagne.

“Is someone looking for a dance partner?”

A lithe woman in a powder blue, silk dress that clung to every curve swayed toward them. Her blond hair was done up in finger waves and she wore a lavish diamond and sapphire, choker style necklace that accentuated her long, graceful neck. She was nearly as tall as Jack and the way she positioned herself at his side gave him a very direct view of a plunging neckline that threatened to expose her rather ample bosom.

“May I introduce Miss Vivian Lawrence,” Mac said, “Vivian is a benefactor of the Women’s hospital and a frequent volunteer there. Viv, this is Inspector Jack Robinson.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Lawrence,” Jack said, nodding politely.

“Call me Viv, please,” she said. “You’re an Inspector? With the police?”

“That’s right.”

“Then you _are_ the one everyone is talking about,” she said. “Phryne Fisher’s beau.”

Mac gave him a look that clearly said I told you so.

“I am here as Miss Fisher’s guest,” Jack said noncommittally.

“Then I owe Mary an apology,” Viv said, “I told her, that if Miss Fisher was with _you_ , it was not possible that she would be dancing with unctuous Olly. I know I would never leave you on your own in a crowd like this.”

“Unctuous Olly?” Mac said, laughing.

“Oh, that’s our pet name for Oliver Scarsdale. Known him forever. He was always annoyingly cloying and a bit slippery. I wouldn’t trust him to walk my dog. Rumor is he’s raced through his inheritance so fast that he’s found himself in rather desperate circumstances. Apparently he’s now trying to finagle his sister out of her share of the inheritance. Hazel always had the better head on her shoulders.”

Jack was looking for a way to extricate himself from this conversation. It was just the sort of upper class chatter that tried his patience. While other people were truly struggling in difficult financial times, these people fretted because they had to cut back on the champagne budget.

He looked around for anyone he might find an excuse to approach. The only people he saw that he knew were Phryne’s aunt, Prudence Stanley, her son Guy and his loony wife Isabella.

That might have been a slight improvement, Isabella was entertaining, but right now they seemed to be in a heated discussion, and best avoided. Before he had a chance to find an alternative, he felt Miss Lawrence slip a hand along his arm and take hold.

“I’m sure this idle gossip is of no interest to you, Jack. I hope I may I call you Jack.” She fluttered her eyes at him. “How about you take me for a spin?” she said, pausing briefly before adding, “on the dance floor.”

“What a good idea,” Mac said, giving Jack a mischievous grin. “I was just telling Jack he was being far too dull tonight. Take him off to dance, Viv.”

The song that had started up was a waltz, and, as he was already being pulled toward the dance floor, he couldn’t find a reason to object. He chanced a look in Phryne’s direction. She was still occupied with Oliver Scarsdale. The young man had his arm possessively around her waist and was whispering earnestly into her ear. Resigned, Jack took the lead and steered Vivian to the floor.

Phryne twisted out of Oliver’s grasp, smiling sweetly and telling him she needed a bit of a breather. The band had started a waltz and she wanted to find Jack. He didn’t enjoy some of the faster dances of the day, but she could always get him onto the floor for a waltz. She turned just in time to see him take the hand of a tall, slim blond, his other hand resting stiffly on her back, as they began to move smoothly across the floor. The blond said something that made him laugh, then stepped in a little too close for Phryne’s liking, her chest pressed up against his.

Phryne huffed in indignation, and approached Mac, who was grinning slyly at her from Jack’s previous spot of refuge.

“How do you like that?” Phryne said. “This is our dance.”

“If you leave your toys laying around, other children will want to play with them,” Mac said.

“Aren’t you clever,” Phryne said, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “Who is she?”

“Vivian Lawrence,” Mac said. “And you’ve nothing to worry about. He’s only being polite. He’d much prefer to be standing here watching you, as he has been doing all night.”

Phryne shrugged, smiling smugly.

“Do you bring him to these things strictly to feed your ego?” Mac said “Don’t pretend you don’t know he watches you constantly. You must feel that hole burned into your back.”

Phryne rolled her eyes. She did like feeling his eyes on her. Sometimes, she’d look across the room, and their eyes would meet, and the heat that erupted inside her made her want to drag him into a nearby hallway. She didn’t know how he could be so undemanding, letting her roam free, yet possess her so completely. It was alarming and exciting at the same time.

“Vivian Lawrence? The heiress to the Lawrence estate?”

“The same,” Mac said. “She’s sitting on a pretty pile, but she’s a decent one. A champion of women’s causes. She gives generously to the hospital and volunteers there as well.”

“And, she’s young, and lovely with impeccable taste in clothing and accessories. That necklace is to die for,” Phryne said.

The song ended and Phryne watched Vivian place a hand on Jack’s chest, leaning in and laughing a bit too enthusiastically at something he’d said. Phryne downed her champagne and handed the empty glass to Mac.

“I’d better go reclaim my ‘toy’ before she gets any fancy ideas,” she said.

After a brief and extraordinarily polite introduction, Phryne separated Jack from Vivian and began heading for the door.

“Are we leaving?” he said, hopefully.

“I’ve had enough for one night. Haven’t you?” she said.

Before they could make it out of the room, Guy found them and grabbed Phryne by the arm.

“Are you going, dear cousin?” he said “I haven’t had the pleasure of a dance yet.”

“What do you want Guy?” she said. He was never so solicitous unless he was after something.

“Why must I want something?” he began, then, seeing the look on her face, dropped the facade, “Oh, alright,” he said. “I just need a quick word.”

“I’ll get our coats and meet you by the door,” Jack said. Phryne mouthed a thank you and turned her attention to her cousin.

She was back at Jack’s side in under five minutes. He helped her into her coat, letting his hands rest on her shoulders a bit longer than strictly necessary and then running them slowly down her arms. He was sorry to have missed a chance to dance with her. She leaned back slightly, resting against him for a moment. She couldn’t wait to get him home. Jack in a tuxedo was enticing. Jack in nothing was irresistible.

“What did Guy want?” he asked.

“Nothing really. He’s got himself into a spot financially. A poor investment has left him temporarily dry and he’s looking for help to get him over. Aunt P has already turned him down.”

“Will you help?”

“I told him to call tomorrow, I have other things on my mind now.”

She looked him over from head to toe, making clear just what was on her mind.

“Your’s or mine tonight?” she asked.

He had a day off tomorrow.

“Your’s,” he said.

* * *

 

Jack loved lazy mornings at her home. He’d started keeping a change of casual clothes at her place for the nights he stayed. An old pair of moleskin trousers and a jumper or two. They’d lie in bed as long as they liked, often making slow, tender love to each other.

When they’d rise they’d leisurely enjoy one of Mr. Butler’s delicious breakfasts with Dot’s feather light scones, and plenty of butter and fresh apricot preserves.

He’d had to mostly limit his stays to the nights before a day off from work. It was too hard to run home and bathe and change and still make it to the station on time.

She wanted him to keep more clothes at her place, but he wasn’t blessed with a large enough wardrobe to split between two residences. Inevitably he’d be in one place and need something that was back at the other place. The biggest irritation was that he’d have to pass the station to get from her house to his, and then back track once he was properly attired.

Of course, she’d offered to buy him things, to help alleviate the problem, but that would make him feel like a kept man, and he wouldn’t allow it.

It was a problem. Even on a day off, it wasn’t unusual for him to be called to the station. There was an unspoken understanding between a handful of trusted constables, that if he couldn’t be reached at home, he should be sought at Miss Fisher’s residence. That helped avoid any large delays, but he still had to rush home to get dressed. It was getting tiresome.

He’d been awake for some time now. He’d first woken before dawn to feel her hands on him. He’d expressed his approval, and her hands had drifted lower, stoking him until he felt a familiar and urgent need to be inside her.

No matter how many times they did this, that first push, the initial connection, would always steal the breath from his lungs. They’d made love slowly, and her purring sounds of pleasure rang in his ear as they drifted off to sleep again in each other’s arms. 

Awake once more, he’d thought several times to get up, but she was curled against him, so warm and soft, he couldn’t bring himself to move. The decision was made from him, when Mr. Butler knocked softly and called through the door.

“Inspector Robinson? I’m sorry to disturb, but Constable Collins has phoned. He’d like you to call him at the station at your earliest convenience,” he said.

“Thank you Mr. Butler,” Jack called back. “I’ll be down presently.”

Phryne groaned irritably at the disruption. He kissed her softly on the temple and rose to find a robe and go call the station.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A injured and mysterious young woman arrives at City South, disrupting Jack's plans for his day off.

Hugh was at the front desk, working the early shift, when the door opened and Sergeant Barton came through towing a bedraggled, and clearly injured young woman. He gripped her upper arm and yanked, too roughly for Hugh’s liking, toward the bench, forcibly setting her down.

The dress she wore, clearly an evening dress, was soiled and torn. Last night, the temperature had dropped and Hugh wondered where she’d lost her coat. Her hair was mussed, a bruise bloomed on her cheek and her lip was split. She had a large scrape openly bleeding at her elbow.

“What is this Barton?” Hugh said. He probably should have referred to the man by his rank, but Barton was an unpleasant sort and not a very good cop. Hugh had little respect for him.

“A patrol picked up this little ‘ _lady_ ’ very early this morning,” Barton said, approaching with a sneer that made clear he thought her anything but.

“I don’t understand, if North picked her up, why are you here? By the looks of her she should be in hospital,” Hugh hissed, trying not to be overheard. In his experience, when a woman had these types of injuries, there were often other wounds not seen by the eye. The young woman sat rigidly, hands in her lap, head held high, eyes straight ahead.

“She don’t wanna go. Says to take her to Jack Robinson. Says she’ll only talk to him,” Barton said, his mouth curving into a very unattractive grin. “Looks like the DI’s found himself another society tart. This one’s even younger than the last.”

Hugh’s hands curled into fists and he exhaled heavily.

“Don’t move, Sergeant,” he said, heading toward the young woman. “I’m going to need more information, but I’m taking care of her first.”

Barton strolled behind the front desk and took a seat, propping up his feet.

“Take your time,” he said, leaning back with hands behind his head.

Hugh approached the woman. She turned to looked at him with hard eyes.

“Miss?” he said, warmly, sitting beside her. “What’s happened to you, miss? Can you tell me?”

“Enough time has already been wasted by incompetence,” she said harshly, looking toward Sergeant Barton. “I’d like to speak to Inspector Jack Robinson. Now, please.”

“I’ll call for the Inspector straight away, but are you sure you wouldn’t rather I take you to hospital? Inspector Robinson could meet us there,” Hugh said.

She looked Hugh up and down appraisingly, her demeanor softened a bit as she recognized that this man was different from the policemen she’d encountered earlier.

“Thank you for your concern, but I don’t need a hospital. I’d just like you to bring me to Inspector Robinson,” she said more politely this time

She’d begun to shake slightly, whether from cold or shock, Hugh didn’t know. That dress was held up by such thin straps and dipped so low he thought she must be freezing.

“Alright,” he said gently. “Let’s get you settled somewhere quiet while I try to reach him.”

“Is he not here?” she asked.

“It’s his day off,” Hugh explained.

“Oh, I hadn’t considered that,” she said anxiously. “Will it be terribly long? Time is of the essence.”

“I’m sure not too long,” Hugh said, “He’s not far.” He shouldn’t have said anything. She appeared calm, but he could tell she was skittish. Something felt off about all of this. He didn’t want her to bolt.

He put his hand lightly under her uninjured elbow and helped her to her feet. The dress looked to be hanging on by a thread. He steered her to the Inspector’s office. It was private, and seemed more friendly than the interview room. On the way, he stopped and pulled a blanket from the shelf, wrapping it around her shoulders.

She looked at him with a small, grateful smile. She really was uncommonly pretty, in spite of the bruises. He’d seen his share of women banged up. He could recognize the heavy hand of a man against a woman’s face when he saw it, and it always made his blood boil.

He got her seated then took his handkerchief from his pocket, intending to clean her wounds. He stopped, deciding it was best to let her attend to them herself, and held out the kerchief to her. He left the room, telling her he’d phone the Inspector and return with some tea.

Hugh fished some bandages from the desk and filled the kettle to make a fresh pot, before turning his attention to Barton, who’d helped himself to the last of Hugh’s first brew.

“Imagine getting yer hands on a tasty thing like that, Collins,” Barton sneered. “The ones with trouble at home are usually open to a little friendliness. That Robinson knows how to put his pretty face to good use, don’t he? I’d do the same if I ran in his circles, the lucky bastard.”

“Tell me where you found the girl,” Hugh said, ignoring the lewd comments, but seething inside. Not just on behalf of his boss, but for Miss Fisher as well.

Once he’d gotten all he could from Barton, he made sure the man was well removed from the station before trying to ring Jack. He only let the phone ring a few times at Jack’s number before giving up and calling over to Miss Fisher’s.

Once he’d left his message, he brought the tea tray into Jack’s office, unearthed the not so secret stash and took out a few biscuits. Under the circumstances, he didn’t think the Inspector would mind.

“It’s not as good as my wife’s, I’m afraid,” Hugh said, handing the woman a mug and giving her a charming smile. “But she’s taught me a few things, so it’s better than it used to be.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” she said, “Thank you.”

She took it, with a small nod, wrapping her hands around the mug. He approached her, holding out the bandages he’d found.

“May I?” he asked, glancing at her elbow.

She nodded curtly, and extended her arm, letting him bandage the wound.

“I’ve left word for the Inspector,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll hear from him any moment. Is there anything I can tell him when he calls? Your name? Anything?”

“Please,” she said, “you’ve been very kind, but I don’t know you.”

“And you do know the Inspector?”

“We’ve met,” she said. “And, as I’ve never been in a situation such as this before, I’d prefer to wait and speak with someone with whom I’m comfortable.”

She’d tried speaking to the other policemen and it had been a disaster. They’d refused to take her seriously and precious time had been lost. She'd been afraid they were going to let her languish in that cell all day. She’d waste no more of her breath until she was speaking to someone she felt she could trust.

“Alright. We’ll wait for the Inspector. It shouldn’t be long now,” Hugh said, hoping that was true.

The phone in the outer room rang and Hugh jumped to go answer it, glad to hear the Inspector’s distinctive voice on the other end.

“You called, Collins,” Jack said.

“I’m sorry to bother you on your day off. A young woman’s been brought in by City North. She’s been roughed up.”

“North? Why is she with you?”

“She’s asked for you, sir. Says she knows you.”

“Who is she?”

“She won’t give me a name. I think she might be in a bit of shock, but she’s relatively calm at the moment. I’ve put her in your office. I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine, Collins,” Jack said, puzzling over who it might be that would know him but not Hugh. Any of the regulars would know them both. He realized he’d automatically assumed this to be a working girl.

“What does the woman look like?” he asked.

“She’s very pretty,” Hugh said quietly. He doubted she could overhear, but he’d left the door to Jack’s office slightly ajar in case she called for him. “I don’t know about dresses, but the one she’s got on looks fancy. It’s shiny and...um, well, there’s not much of it, if you know what I mean. The shoes look expensive too, like something Miss Fisher would wear. She’s blond and tall for a woman, and kind of, well, regal looking.”

Jack smiled at how much improved Hugh’s powers of observation had become, along with his ability to describe what he’d seen. This was no working girl, which made the situation all the more curious.

“She won’t tell you what this is about?”

“No, but she seems in a hurry to talk to you.”

“Alright. Thank you Collins, I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Keep her comfortable.”

He hurried upstairs to dress. He considered going directly to the station. Hugh said the woman was impatient, and it was his day off, so it wouldn’t be odd that he was dressed casually. He decided against it. He had no idea what he was walking into and wanted to appear as professional as possible.

Phryne rolled over in the bed.

“What’s going on?” she asked sleepily.

“I’ve got to go to the station,” he said, pulling on his trousers.

“It’s your day off!” she whined.

“Collins called. He has a situation that requires my assistance.”

He thought about telling her of the mystery woman, and how she’d asked specifically for him, but decided against it. Phryne would insist on coming, and he’d waste time waiting for her.

“How long will you be?” she said.

“I can’t say,” he said. “I have no idea what this is about. Hopefully it won’t take long.”

They had talked about visiting the botanical gardens today and he’d very much been looking forward to it.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll call when I’m free.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, and he smiled fondly as she rolled over, pulling the covers up around her head.

He hurried downstairs. It was damned inconvenient, but he’d have to ask Mr. Butler for a favor. He grimaced as he entered the kitchen. Mr. Johnson and Mr. Yates were seated at the table having breakfast. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to bother Mr. Butler after all, not that this alternative was any better.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Up early this morning, ain’t ya Inspector?” Bert said, far too amused for Jack’s liking.

Cec simply nodded, amiably.

“Yes,” Jack said, clearing his throat. “And I’m wondering if I may trouble you two for a favor.”

“What’s in it for us?” Bert asked.

“Of course, Inspector,” Cec said, elbowing Bert in the ribs. “What do ya need?”

“I have to get to the station and I can’t go looking like this,” he said, indicating his casual attire. “I wonder if you might run me to my house and wait while I change?”

He swallowed no small amount of pride to ask, but it was unavoidable. On a Sunday the trams ran on a reduced schedule and waiting for them would take too long.

“No trouble at all, Inspector,” Cec said. “We can leave straight away, unless you want a cuppa before we go?”

“No, thank you. I think it’s best that I get there as soon as possible.”

“Don’t take two of us for this job,” Bert said to Cec. “I reckon you can handle it while I finish my breakfast.”

Cec slapped his hat hard on this thigh before pulling it on.

“Sure, Bert,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t go troublin’ yourself.”

Jack was relieved. He would never get used to the lewd way Bert grinned whenever they encountered each other in the house early in the morning. If Jack wasn’t aware of the soft center Bert kept hidden under all his bluster, they may have come to blows by now.

Jack had seen enough to know that Bert’s teasing grin and forward remarks were his way of showing tacit approval of Jack’s relationship with Phryne. Not that Jack needed Albert Johnson’s approval, but it was better than not having it, considering how fiercely loyal the man was to Phryne. Even so, he’d rather not have to look at that grin, and listen to Bert chuckle quietly, while being shuttled home after a night in Miss Fisher’s bed.

Cec was a different story. He was always genial and easy going, never making suggestive comments or hinting at anything untoward. With Cec, Jack wouldn’t spend the entire trip in a state of embarrassment.

When they reached his home, Jack rushed inside and pulled a clean shirt and suit from his wardrobe. He went to the bath for a wash up. He realized, with a small smile, that he smelled of sweat and sex and Phryne, and decided to take the time for a quick rinse in the shower.

In just under an hour he was stepping through the doors of City South, properly attired in a three piece suit and tie, his hair slicked back. Hugh looked up from the desk, relief flooding his face.

Hugh quickly filled him on what he knew, which was not much. He gave Barton’s account, leaving out his cruder comments. Barton had said that the woman had approached a patrolmen in a state of anxiety. She claimed to have been attacked and robbed. She said she’d been knocked unconscious and when she woke, her jewelry, and the friend she’d been with, were gone.

She was in an area of town known for shady dealings, speakeasies and drug dens. The foot patrol assumed she’d been under the influence of something, and had run into trouble with a boyfriend or dealer. Barton said when he tried to speak with her she was belligerent and hysterical. She refused to give her name, saying that wasn’t important. She insisted they go search for her friend. They put her in a cell to give her time to settle down.

That, Barton said, is when _“she started hollerin’ for Inspector Jack Robinson and wouldn’t shut up, so we decided she could be his problem.”_

“Thank you constable,” Jack said when Hugh had finished, “Grab your notepad and let’s go see what we can discover.”

He rapped on the door to his office in warning, then pushed it open.

“Good Morning. I’m Inspector Robinson. I understand...”

The woman turned, stopping him mid-sentence.

“Miss Lawrence!” he said in surprise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack learns how Vivian Lawrence came to be in his office and stumbles into a larger mystery involving the theft of a valuable piece of jewelry and a missing woman.

Although he’d recognized her immediately, Jack was having a hard time reconciling that this was the same woman he’d danced with less than twelve hours earlier. He took in the scene, the blanket and bandages, the tea and biscuits, and was rather proud of his Senior Constable.

It took less than half an hour for Jack to get a general idea of what had occurred to result in Miss Lawrence showing up in his office in such a state.

After the charity gala to raise funds for the Women’s Hospital at Prudence Stanley’s home, a group had left seeking more scintillating entertainment, led by Mrs. Stanley’s son Guy. They’d found themselves in a speakeasy in a less than reputable part of town. It had been a rowdy and rather loose group, from what Jack could ascertain. None of this surprised him, given what he already knew of Phryne’s cousin Guy.

Late that night, or more accurately early this morning, Miss Lawrence and her friend Hazel Winters had decided to head home. Miss Lawrence admitted to their both being somewhat inebriated, and since she was unfamiliar with the area, she followed Hazel, who had been there before. Hazel led Vivian out the back, saying the alley would bring them more quickly to a street on which they’d readily find a cab at that hour.

They’d barely stepped from the building when they were set upon. A large man, his head bent, with a cap pulled low, accosted them. He yanked the necklace from around Miss Lawrence’s throat and smashed his fist into her face, knocking her down. Her head hit the ground with force, and she heard Hazel scream just before losing consciousness.

When she came to, she stumbled from the alley in search of help and spotted a patrol officer.

“I tried to get the officer to look for Hazel,” she said. “to search the alley, call, or go to her home and check on her, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He seemed to think me out of my head, and took me to the station. I repeated my story to that Sergeant.

He was so dismissive and condescending. He told me to sit down and wait until he had time to deal with me. And he wasn’t even busy! I got angry. Perhaps it was beneath me, but I was beside myself with worry. All my outburst resulted in was a trip to the cells. That’s when I demanded to see you,” she said, looking at Jack. “When we met last night, you seemed a decent man. I hoped you’d be able to help.”

“Constable, will you please go make a call to Miss Winters' home?” Jack said. “Do you have the number?” he asked Miss Lawrence.

She provided the exchange, adding that it was Mrs. Winters, her friend, it seemed was married. Hugh went to place the call.

“I’d like to get you checked out by a doctor, Miss Lawrence,” Jack said. “Is there someone you could call to take you to hospital? Or, I could have my constable drive you.”

“He’s already offered,” she said, “Thank you, but no, my injuries are not serious. I will see my own doctor in time. I just want to find my friend.”

“Alright,” he acquiesced, her stubborn look was frighteningly familiar. “Can you think of anyone that might have wanted to hurt you or Mrs. Winters?”

“Hurt us? Specifically?” she said, “I’m sure this was just a crime of opportunity. My necklace was extremely valuable. It was foolish of me to wear it out to a place like that. The man must have seen it in the club and followed us out.”

“That might be the case,” he said, “but until we find Mrs. Winters, or someone that can shed more light on the event, we can’t be sure.”

Hugh returned with the news that he was unable to reach Mrs. Winters at her home. The butler had answered and said that neither Mr. or Mrs. Winters was in, but refused to give further information.

“Sy isn’t at home?” Miss Lawrence said, confused.

“Sy?” Jack asked.

“Sylvester Winters, Hazel’s husband,” she said. “He didn’t attend the gala or, other events, last night. Hazel said he was at home. It’s early for him to be out on a Sunday.”

Jack wondered why the man wouldn’t have accompanied his wife. Perhaps he was ill, but, if her husband was home ill, would the wife have gone off to a speakeasy rather than home to him? He pushed that information away for later.

“This is very distressing,” Miss Lawrence said, showing emotion for the first time. “I think I was believing she’d be found safe at home, with some explanation as to why she’d left me. We have to find her!”

She stood quickly and swayed so violently Jack had to lunge to grab her before she fell. He lowered her gently back into the seat.

“We will look into matters and keep you updated, but there is nothing else you can do here. If you are able, I’d like you to give my constable a detailed description of both Mrs. Winters and your missing jewelry, after which I’ll have a car take you home, or to hospital. I really think you should have that bump on your head looked after.”

“Home will be fine. I can call around to some of our other friends. I promise I will see a doctor eventually. And if it will help, I’m sure I have a photograph of Hazel there that I could give to you.”

After getting a description, Jack phoned the other local stations to inform them of the missing woman, asking to be contacted should she turn up anywhere. He said a photograph would be forthcoming, but gave them the basic information he had so far.

The constable returned with the promised photograph. Jack realized that he had seen Hazel Winters at the Gala, but they hadn’t been introduced. The photograph was a casual portrait of Miss Lawrence and another, shorter, dark haired, full figured woman. They were arm in arm, laughing and looking at each other, rather than the camera. It brought to mind the way Phryne and Mac often put their heads together, laughing at some shared joke.

Jack and Hugh headed to the alley that had been the scene of the assault. They immediately found a fur wrap, laying near a nondescript door, most likely the back exit from the speakeasy. Closer examination turned up some blood, possible from Miss Lawrence, but little else. There was no sign of Mrs. Winters.

They walked around the corner and knocked at the speakeasy door, but there was no answer. Not surprising at this hour of the day. They’d have to return in the evening if they hoped to speak to anyone there. The location had Jack scratching his head. Leaving by the front entrance would have brought the women to a main street much faster than using the alley. But then, they’d been inebriated, and probably not thinking clearly. The next stop was the home of Hazel Winters.

It was a substantial home, larger than Phryne’s, but not as large as Prudence Stanley’s home. The butler that answered the door reluctantly let them in, not wanting the neighbors to see police at the door, but wouldn’t allow them beyond the foyer. He informed them that his master and mistress were out and said they could leave a card.

It wasn’t until Jack explained that he had reason to believe Mrs. Winters might be in danger that the butler showed any expression at all. Jack was able to impress upon the man the seriousness of the situation and finally got some useful information.

Mrs. Winters had gone out the previous evening and had not returned by the time the butler retired for the night, which was not unusual. In the middle of the night the phone had rung. It was Mrs. Winters, and she sounded very shaken. She asked to speak with her husband. The butler had retreated so Mr. Winters could take the call in private. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but Mr. Winters’ tone was one of alarm, and immediately upon hanging up, he had dressed and rushed from the house without a word. The butler hadn’t seen or heard from either of them since.

Jack left his card, asking the man to call if there was any further news. They headed back to the station, with not much more understanding of the situation than when they’d left. If anything, this news was even more perplexing. Where had Hazel Winters called from and why had she called her husband rather than the police? Was she not concerned for her friend, unconscious and bleeding in the alley? Or, had she called her husband for assistance? If the latter, where were the two of them now?  

Jack headed to his office lost in thought. The next logical steps would be to find out who else was at the club last night, and to send some officers out to local pawn shops to inquire about the necklace. Jack remembered the piece. It was exquisite and quite unique. It should be easy to spot should anyone try to pawn it. That it was Sunday, with some shops closed, would hinder the investigation.

He decided to give Phryne a call and tell her he’d most likely be tied up for the day, but before he’d even picked up the phone, Hugh called out and rushed into his office.

“Sir, we’ve had a call. A body’s been found outside an abandoned warehouse.”

“Mrs. Winters?” Jack asked in alarm.

“No, it’s male. I can’t be sure, but the description fits the one the butler gave of Mr. Winters.”

“Mr. Winters? What is going on here, Collins?”

Cause of death was clear. Two gunshot wounds, one to the abdomen and one to the head. If they came in quick succession, death would have come fast.

By the time they’d returned from the scene, having had the body removed to the coroner’s office, and made arrangements for the butler to come make a positive identification of Mr. Winters, it was after one o’clock. Jack was starving. He’d had nothing but a hasty cup of tea when he’d first arrived at the station and had no idea when he’d be able to stop to eat.

His mind was preoccupied with the case. The coroner thought Winters couldn’t have been dead more than a few hours, which fit with their timeline. He had nothing of significance on his person, and the warehouse near where his body was found was deserted. There was no vehicle, implying he’d taken a cab, but the butler had not called for one, so where he’d picked it up was a mystery, and there was no sign of Mrs. Winters.

He strode purposefully into his office, pulled a new folder to begin a case file, and walked behind his desk, sitting down heavily.

“Collins!” he called, shuffling through the papers on the desktop, “where is that photograph?”

That’s when he looked up and saw her. She was sitting silently in the chair opposite, her legs crossed, an indulgent expression on her face. He blinked, taking in first her, and then the large basket on the desk.

“Hello Jack,” she said.

“Here’s the picture, sir. Oh, hello Miss Fisher,” Hugh said, skidding to a halt upon entering Jack’s office. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I am,” she said brightly. She looked pointedly at Jack. “Since you left in a rush, without breakfast, I assumed you’ve been to busy to eat and have brought lunch, enough for both of you.

The thought of food brought a large grin to Hugh’s face, but he looked to his boss as if for permission. Jack blanched at the mention of where he had been this morning, but seeing as Hugh had called for him at Miss Fisher’s, it was hardly a secret. Hugh was practically salivating at the sight of the basket, and Jack heard his own stomach rumble. How had he not noticed the heavenly aroma before?

“Miss Fisher, you are a godsend,” Jack said.

“Well, it’s really Mr. Butler’s doing. I’m just in charge of the delivery,” she beamed.

She stood and pulled a smaller basket from within the larger one, handing it over to Hugh.

“Here you go, Hugh,” she said. “I believe Dot sent along a little something special for you, in addition to her delicious scones.”

When she’d offered to bring lunch to the station, Dot had scribbled out a little note for her husband to add to the basket. Phryne didn’t know what it said, but from the expression on Dot’s face as she wrote, she doubted it was a request to pick up milk on his way home. With one child walking and talking and another already on the way, those two showed no signs of slowing down. Soon, Phryne feared, the little terrace home would be overrun.

“Why don’t you take a short break and enjoy the lunch, Constable. I’m afraid we have a busy afternoon ahead of us.” Jack said, with an apologetic look at Phryne.

Hugh took his little bundle and left the office, closing the door behind him.

“Good man,” Phryne said, once he’d gone. “Now, tell me what’s happened to make you desert me on our day off.” She snatched up the photograph Hugh had dropped on the desk. “Isn’t this that woman from last night? Vivian Lawrence? Why do you have this?”

Jack filled her in as they ate. She had never met Hazel Winters or her husband, but knew of them. Hazel, she informed Jack, was the older sister of young Oliver Scarsdale, with whom Phryne had danced the night before. They had both inherited a rather large estate from their father, but, Phryne recalled, the dissolution of the estate had not been without controversy.

The father had specified that the family home go to his only son Oliver. All else was to be divided among the son, Oliver, the daughter, Hazel, and Hazel’s husband, Sylvester Winters.

The courts determined that for legal purposes, Hazel and her husband were one entity, therefore, instead of splitting the estate into thirds, Oliver was awarded half, and Hazel and her husband together, the remaining half.

“That hardly seems fair,” Jack said, through a mouthful of delicious gratin.

“It gets worse,” she said. “Because of the Married Women’s Property Act, Hazel is allowed to own property and assets in her own right, but as a married woman, her husband was entitled to half of her assets. He can hold on to his one-fourth and do what he pleases with half of hers, without consulting her. Further, should they ever divorce, he would most likely get half of whatever remains. From what I understand, she’s an astute woman and has managed the money well enough to live quite comfortably, but the husband’s a bit of fop and spends quite freely. ”

“Interesting,” Jack said.

"Interesting? It's appalling!"

"Agreed," he said, “but I’m not sure it assists us much in finding her. The husband was not with her last night and can’t be found to speak with now.”

“I’d like to help,” Phryne said. “What can I do?”

“My next stop was to be your aunt’s home. I need to speak to Guy and Isabella. They were the ringleaders in the trip to the speakeasy last night. I need to know what they saw and who else was with them.”

“Why am I not surprised to find Guy in the mix?” she said. “I’ll come with you. I’ll know better than you when Guy is prevaricating. We don’t have time for his games.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Hazel and Oliver's father's estate was distributed was used to illustrate how marriage affected a woman's rights to property and assets. Giving a picture of what it would mean for Phryne, a single woman of means, to marry.
> 
> The example is based on a real case, Judd v Buckwell. It took place in 1887, but for my purposes I've put it in the 1920's. Hopefully by then it would have been decided differently, but in the original case, a widower left his estate to his daughter, her husband and her husband's sister. While it was agreed the Married Women’s Property Act, passed in 1882, allowed a woman to own property and assets individual of her husband, to a third party, the husband and wife were considered one person. So in Judd v Buckwell, the sister-in-law (the third party) inherited half, while the daughter and her husband, (considered one person) got the other half. Then, within the marriage, that half was shared between husband and wife, leaving the daughter with only one-fourth of her father's estate.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery deepens and Jack has a startling revelation regarding his relationship with Phryne.

What Jack and Phryne learned from Guy Stanley and his wife was minimal. Yes, they had gone to the speakeasy with a small group from the gala. Guy was able to provide names and confirm that Miss Lawrence and Mrs. Winters had been among them. Though he’d been invited, Oliver Scarsdale had declined to go along, and as far as they could recall, had left the gala before them.

Once at the new venue, the group had fairly scattered, each to their own devices, and neither Guy nor Isabella could recall seeing the two women leave. Isabella thought they’d still been there when she left, but she wasn’t sure. Guy said he left about a half hour after Isabella, but couldn’t recall seeing them then either.

When asked why they hadn’t left together, the couple gave each other knowing looks, smiling slyly.

“Guy,” Phryne said, “We don’t have time for your silly games. A woman is missing. Why did you not leave with Isabella?”

“She wasn’t on her own, if that’s what your thinking,” he said, defending himself against the look he was getting from the uptight detective inspector.

“That’s true,” Isabella said. “I was accompanied by a rather strapping young man. He went with me to our flat. The one we keep in town, for when we wish to stay somewhere other than with Prudence. You know what a prude she can be, Phryne.”

“And this young man,” Phryne sighed, “Do you recall his name?”

“No,” she said. “I’m afraid I was not in any shape to remember something as pedantic as his name, if I ever asked it.”

Phryne was aghast. It was one thing to live your life as you saw fit, but Isabella was beyond foolish. The woman refused to let a sensible thought cross her brain more than once a day. She had left a questionable establishment, in a dangerous neighborhood, in the middle of the night, impaired and alone, with a perfect stranger. It was the height of stupidity. It was a miracle they weren’t searching for her as well.

“So,” Jack interjected. “You can’t tell us who this man is or where to find him?”

“No, but between Guy and myself, I’m sure we could provide a _very_ detailed description.”

“I thought you said you left without Guy,” Phryne said.

“Yes, I went ahead with the young man, to get things warmed up, so to speak,” Isabella said. “Guy joined us later. After about forty minutes, wouldn’t you say, darling?”

“That sounds about right, peaches,” Guy replied, nuzzling Isabella’s nose in a rather sickening display.

It was Jack’s turn to sigh and rub his eyes. He hoped to God he wouldn’t need to use either of these two as witnesses. He told them not to leave town, and not to speak with anyone about the case, to which they both complied. They had no intention of leaving the house today, and as to the case, they appeared to have already lost interest.

Phryne and Jack turned to go. Guy grabbed Phryne’s elbow.

“A quick word, Phrynekins?” he said.

She rolled her eyes at Jack, and he took himself off to wait by the car. If she learned anything relevant, he knew she’d tell him later.

“Have you given any more thought to what we discussed last night?” Guy asked.

“The money,” Phryne said. “What, exactly, do you need this money for?”

“I’ve fallen behind on the rent at our little love nest. I’d be able to pay you back after the first of the month when I get my stipend. Honestly, I don’t understand why Mother is so stingy with my allowance. I’m a grown man after all.”

“Perhaps when you start acting like one, she’ll loosen the purse strings,” she said. “When are you going to outgrow these shenanigans, Guy? You’re too careless, and the way you play with other people, as though they’re toys, it’s inexcusable.”

She’d had more than her fair share of debauched nights, and didn’t regret them, but she’d never been as cavalier as Guy and Isabella. She sometimes suspected that his companions were, on occasion, induced to participate with money or drugs or both. That was something she highly disapproved of, but she’d mostly kept her feelings to herself.

“When did you become such a stick-in-the-mud?” Guy said, “Ever since you’ve taken up with that policeman you’re no fun at all. Remember the things we used to get up to? I’m awaiting the day you tire of him and return to the fold.”

“You’ll have a long wait, Guy,” she said. “Those days are in the past, and as fun as they were, I’ve no interest in revisiting them. I’m perfectly happy where I am. And you, my dear cousin, should be more careful.”

“How horribly dull,” he sniffed.

She firmly believed one should live and let live, so long as no one got hurt, but somewhere along the way, for herself anyway, the wild nights had lost their appeal. She still enjoyed the odd night out, drinking and dancing, but other things had become important too. She was responsible for Jane, and to some extent, Dot. She had a household, and good friends, her work and Jack. It should have felt suffocating, but it didn’t. She was happy. Very happy. She turned to go.

“The money?” Guy asked.

“It’s Sunday. I can’t get to the bank until tomorrow, but I’ll cover you. This time,” she said, before taking her leave.

When she caught up with Jack outside, it was decided that he would fetch Hugh and the two of them would chase down the rest of the speakeasy party and get statements. Phryne had plans of her own.

She went home and collected Dot. Charlotte, it was arranged, would stay with Mr. Butler for a few hours. He adored the child, and had got used to having her underfoot in the house when Dot was working.

Phryne and Dot would take high tea at the Windsor. Sunday afternoon tea was very popular among the women of the society set. The men would head off to their clubs, while the wives drank tea, ate cakes and gossiped.

It would be a treat for Dot, who deserved a break after being run off her feet by her “darling Lottie” as she called Charlotte, and hopefully give Phryne a chance to unearth some information about Hazel Winters and Vivian Lawrence.

The police were keeping all news of the Winters’ case under wraps. Until they knew what they were dealing with, they didn’t want speculation and gossip muddying the waters. Jack knew that once people were aware of the circumstances, they might not be as forthcoming with information or, even worse, inclined to embellish. He knew word would leak eventually, but wanted to delay that as long as possible.

Phryne would have to be careful in her inquiries, feigning general interest in local gossip, rather than revealing the true motives behind her questions. It didn’t prove hard to do. She engaged a few women in conversation, mentioned having met Hazel Winters at the gala, and it was off to the races. Apparently Hazel was a favorite and frequent topic.

She was excited to share what she’d learned with Jack and waited impatiently for him to come for dinner, as he usually did these days. She was let down when he called to say he wouldn’t make it, but he promised he’d come by as soon as he could.

Around eight o’clock, Jack finally decided he needed a break, and made the ten minute stroll from his office to Phryne’s home. On the way, he debated whether or not to tell her what he’d learned regarding Hazel Winters and her cousin Guy. It had been long time since he’d kept any part of an investigation from her, but this time, it involved her family. If this new piece of information proved important, he may have to ask Phryne to step back from the case. He still hadn’t made up his mind when she met him at the door.

“There you are!” she said, pulling him through the door and giving him a welcoming kiss on the cheek. “You look exhausted. Have you eaten?”

“You’re always trying to feed me,” he said, smiling. “I’ll get fat if you’re not careful.”

“I can find physical activities to help combat that,” she said, helping him out of this coat.

He followed her into the parlour and watched her head to the bar cart to pour some drinks.

“Not for me tonight,” he said.

She turned, empty glass in hand.

“You’re not staying?”

“I can’t,” he said.

Approaching her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, curling around her back and resting his head on her shoulder and breathing her in. He was so very tired. “I have to get back to the station, I just dropped by for a moment.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling more disappointed than she thought she should.

Mr. Butler entered with a plate full of cold sandwiches. Jack slowly unwound himself from Phryne, and turned to greet him.

“I thought you may not have had time to eat, Inspector, and prepared a small something for you.”

“It’s a conspiracy,” Jack said, glancing playfully at Phryne. “Thank you Mr. Butler, I very much appreciate it.”

With a small nod, Mr. Butler departed, leaving the tray on the table near the chaise.

“Well come sit down, and let me fill you in on what I’ve learned, while you eat,” Phryne said.

What Phryne had learned shed some light on Hazel Winters the person, but not much on what might have happened to her. Jack was careful to take any information with a grain of salt. Gossip had its uses, but he needed firmer facts.

The portrait painted of Hazel was one of an intelligent, lively and sometimes selfish woman. Her mother had died when Hazel was fourteen. Her father had doted on her and encouraged her curious nature, seeing to it that she was well-educated and traveled extensively. She was very pretty, with a buxom figure and pursued by several young man. She liked men, and entertained their attentions, but seemed disinterested in settling down. In fact, the women tittered about just how many young men Hazel entertained.

Her marriage had come as a surprise to many, and there was rampant speculation that Hazel had found herself pregnant by Sy Winters. It was the only explanation anyone could think of to explain the union.

Sy Winters was a silly young man, more interested in fashion and having a good time than anything else. He was, however, very good looking and just the type of man Hazel was known to acquire for a brief, fiery affair, and then discard. They were intellectually incompatible, Hazel being far the more intelligent of the two. And Hazel was more financially well off than Sylvester Winters. A pregnancy was the only logical reason for them to marry, but when no child ever arrived, people were left to wonder.

Old man Scarsdale had passed shortly after the wedding, and the distribution of his assets became the talk of the town. Phryne didn’t repeat that story, having told Jack earlier how Hazel got the short end of the stick. At the tea she learned that Hazel was quite bitter about the outcome. Not only had her vapid brother Oliver inherited the family home, but he’d also walked away with the bulk of the estate, while she retained a meager share. Sy was doing his best to run through the money as fast as he could, and if not for Hazel’s astute investments, it would be long gone by now.

The couple appeared to spend little time together. Hazel was often out at social events without Sy and he seemed to spend the majority of his time at his clubs or the race track. It was rumored that Hazel had as many lovers today as she’d had when younger.

“Have you any idea of the state of the Winters’ finances?” she asked Jack. “There seemed to be many who thought it couldn’t sustain Sylvester’s rate of spending much longer.”

“I have not,” Jack said. “And I was rather leaning toward the idea of a kidnap for ransom, but if they are in financial straits, that doesn’t seem likely.”

“Unless the kidnapper doesn’t know that,” Phryne said. “Perhaps he saw the two women and seized the opportunity. Taking the clearly valuable necklace from Miss Lawrence, and then holding on to Hazel Winters with the idea of collecting a ransom. Then he contacts Sy Winters and shoots him when he comes to pay the ransom.”

“Where would Sy Winters have gotten the money at that hour on a Sunday morning?”

“Good question. Perhaps they kept some cash in a safe at home? It’s not unheard of in these times. People are untrusting of the banks.”

“I’ll look into it tomorrow. I also plan to speak to Oliver Scarsdale. Perhaps he can shed some light on the state of his sister’s marriage and finances. For now, though, I should probably return to work.”

“Must you?” she laid a hand on his cheek. “You look tired.”

“I am tired, but yes, I must. There is a woman still missing and if she has been abducted, and the kidnapper ruthless enough to murder, there is no time to waste.”

“But you need to rest. You won’t be at your best if you’re over-tired.”

“I keep a cot at the station for just such purposes,” he said with a wan smile.

“That doesn’t sound very nice. Why don’t you return here later? It’s closer than your home and I don’t care about how late it might be. Even a few hours in a comfortable bed will be better than a cot.”

“That’s tempting, but I’m afraid the thought of a warm bed here, with you in it, will prove a distraction for me,” he said, kissing her softly. “It’s best that I just stay at the station.”

She pulled him to her for a long, bone melting kiss, and felt him relax against her. She thought, perhaps she could convince him to stay, promising to resist the temptation to seduce him, and simply let him sleep. He got so caught up in his cases, especially when someone was in danger, she worried he’d run himself ragged. In the end, she lost the battle and reluctantly watched him go.

On his way out, Jack noticed that the light was still on in the kitchen at the Collins’ home. He stopped and rapped softly at the back kitchen door. Hugh answered immediately and ushered Jack in. He looked very much at home in the warm, cozy kitchen, wearing just his trousers and an undershirt, his braces hanging loose.

Jack had been in the home many times before. Phryne had done a wonderful job fixing it up when she’d purchased the place, and Dot and Hugh seemed very happy there. Jack envied Hugh. A lovely wife, a comfortable home convenient enough to his work to allow him to stop back for his meals. A beautiful daughter and another child on the way. Marriage had matured Hugh, and it showed in his work as well.

There was no one at the station Jack trusted more, and he was working to get Hugh promoted to Leading Senior Constable. He was already operating as such, and Jack felt he deserved the title and pay to go along with the work.

“Sorry to bother you at home Collins, but I was on my way back to the station and saw the light.”

“No trouble, sir,” Hugh said. “Do you need me back at the station?” He asked, reaching for his uniform jacket, which hung on the back of a chair nearby.

“No, no,” Jack said, shaking his head. “You get a good night’s rest. When you get in tomorrow, I’d like you to select a few of the men you trust most, and go back to search the area where Mr. Winters was found. I’ll be making other inquires and meeting with the coroner, and I want to make sure nothing was missed.”

One the way back to the station, Jack realized he hadn’t told Phryne what the witnesses had said about Guy Stanley. Several of them that had reported seeing Guy and Hazel in a heated discussion at the speakeasy. Unfortunately no one could say what it was about, but apparently there was history there, and some were under the impression that Guy wanted something from Hazel she was unwilling to give. It could have been money. Jack knew Guy had asked Phryne for a loan, but he couldn’t be sure.

Jack wondered if it was significant that Guy hadn’t mentioned it, or, if Guy being Guy, he’d already forgotten the whole thing. Right now, he wasn’t sure it had any relevance and figured that was why he hadn’t mentioned it to Phryne.

He poured over the evidence and witness statements and the next time he looked up it was after midnight. As he retrieved the cot from the hall closet and set it up, he thought about how nice it would be to return to Phryne’s instead.

If he took a police vehicle, he could be there in five minutes. He could curl up beside her warm body and sleep far more soundly than he would on the cold, hard cot. But, there was a chance he might be needed in the night, should any new information arise, and there was no one on duty he trusted to tell where he could be found.

 _Oh well,_ he thought as he laid down and pulled the thin blanket up over him. _Soon. When we’re married._

His eyes flew open and his blood felt like ice in his veins. _When had he started to think that?_

All thoughts of sleep left him as his brain flew into overdrive. Married. To Phryne Fisher. What had he allowed his subconscious to get up to?

He had to admit that things between them were better than he could ever have imagined. For a long time he’d waited for her to come to him, and tell him she was ready to move on, but that day had yet to come, and he found himself thinking about it less and less.

Somewhere, he must have convinced himself that the only obstacle to marriage had been Phryne’s determination never to commit to one man. It seemed now, after nearly a year and a half, she was ready to commit. He felt they were already committed to one another. But, even if that were the case, would she ever want to marry?

All evidence pointed to no.

Phryne had clearly felt that Hazel Winters had been cheated out of a rightful inheritance, but worse, Jack thought, was the fact that upon marriage, Hazel had ceased to exist as a legal entity. She was nothing more than her husband’s wife. And, while a husband and wife might agree on ownership of assets privately, it hardly mattered. It was still a man’s world and in the public sphere, financial institutions and other places of business would always defer to the husband.

And how unfair was that? Jack, had nothing to do with Phryne’s property or wealth. She’d managed it successfully on her own, and he’d want none of it, but to the public, that wouldn’t matter.

He saw how hard Phryne fought to gain respect. If people thought there was a man available to make decisions, it was possible they’d dismiss her outright.

Even if they could somehow figure all that out, could he really see her as his wife? _Mrs. Phryne Robinson?_

She was Phryne Fisher. She would always be Phryne Fisher. Independent and strong, lovely and fierce, with a spirit so indomitable nothing could quash it. Phryne Fisher needed no one to complete her, but, if you were lucky, she chose you, and counted you among her own.

Phryne Robinson. _Never._ Jack Fisher, more likely. The thought made him chuckle.

Phryne was not the marrying kind, for many reasons. So why had he let himself think it possible? Even unconsciously? And, if that was what he truly wanted, where did it leave him now?

Would he never have what Hugh had found? Would he never be able to live together openly with Phryne. Would he forever be shuttling between homes, getting up early so he had time to stop by his house before work, worrying about what would happen to his career and reputation when it became known?

What exactly were they doing? Could the current status quo be sustained for years? Because he wanted to be with Phryne for the rest of his days. He wanted to share his life with her.

The thought, that at sixty, he might still be sneaking around in order to sleep beside the woman he loved made him sick to his stomach. To justify things, he’d apparently told himself, deep down inside, that they would eventually marry. Realistically, he knew that wasn’t an option, and he felt his heart break a little.

If he’d allowed his imagination to roam this far, in what other ways was he fooling himself?

He couldn’t think about it anymore. He needed to be sharp in the morning, and tried to quiet his mind enough to get some sleep. It was no use, and after nearly an hour of tossing and turning, he got up and got back to work. He needed the distraction.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case begins to break open and Jack ponders his relationship with Phryne, his hopes for it and what he really needs.  
> This chapter contains some descriptions of violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting two chapters today, because I they're ready and it might be a couple days before I post again.

In the morning, after no sleep, Jack headed to the morgue to talk to Mac and see what the autopsy had revealed. He couldn’t see Mac without thinking of Phryne.

“What do you have for me, Dr. MacMillan,” he said, brusquely, bringing the case back to the forefront of his mind.

“Good morning to you too, Inspector,” she said cheekily.

He was forever ignoring the common niceties and plunging right into business, and though she teased him, she actually preferred it to the detectives that were overly polite. Or, the ones that were condescending. At least Jack treated her as competent, and expected her to get on with the job, and do it well.

“As we suspected yesterday, cause of death was two close range gun shot wounds,” she began. “The stomach was most likely first, and he would have been facing his attacker. The head shot finished him off. The weapon had a fair amount of stopping power, so I was not surprised when I fished a .455 calibre bullet from his head. Was a weapon found?”

“No, but I’ve sent Collins back to go over the scene again, so something might yet turn up. Time of death?”

“Best estimate would be between, four and nine a.m, yesterday.”

That fit with the timeline given by Miss Lawrence. She thought she and Mrs. Winters had left the club between two and two thirty in the morning. It would have allowed time for Mrs. Winters to somehow get to another location, call her husband and bring him to the abandoned warehouse where he was killed. His body had been found shortly after ten in the morning.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jack said, turning to go.

He stopped, turning back to her.

“Mac,” he said opening his mouth only to close it again. He’d briefly considered asking her opinion on the idea of Phryne and marriage. He shook the thought away. He must be even more tired than he felt. She was looking at him curiously.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Never mind.”

“Get some sleep, Jack. You look exhausted.”

His next stop was to see Miss Lawrence. On the way, he gave the idea of marriage some serious thought. Did he really want to marry again? He knew he wanted to be with Phryne, but did that require marriage? All these months he’d told himself it didn’t, but then the thought had just been there, unbidden, in his head the previous night.

He wanted to be with Phryne, and he hated the running between homes, but truth be told, he didn’t really mind having his own place.

Phryne had some boisterous acquaintances, and enjoyed a loud party far more frequently then he. And, as fond as he was of Jane, when she was home on holiday, she’d often have girlfriends over, and it was like a murder of crows coming to roost. At those times, having a quiet place to retreat to was a blessing.

For as much as they had in common he and Phryne were very different. He was hot milk and Zane Grey to her D.H. Lawrence and cognac. She’d once described their partnership as a waltz rather than a tango, but those descriptions fit each of them as well.

He was a waltz. Slow, steady and closed, with forward gliding steps and a gradual rise and fall. She was a tango. Bold, open and never moving straight ahead, but blazing her own path, her step firm and decisive. The tango was brazenly sensuous, like her, the waltz, more quietly seductive, as he liked to think he was, after all, he seemed able to seduce Phryne, which still amazed him.

Like any good dance partners, they complemented each other. He and Phryne were better together than either was alone. And God help him, he loved her. He loved her body and soul. The thought of being without her was gut wrenching.

* * *

 

Miss Lawrence seemed to be doing much better than yesterday. The bruise on her face had turned a rather ugly green and purple, but her doctor had been by and hadn’t been too concerned about the bump on her head. He was confused by the length of time she said she’d been unconscious. He didn’t think the bump sever enough to knock her out for the hour or more she thought she lay in the alley.

She was very upset that there had been no word of Mrs. Winters and even more upset when Jack broke the news of Mr. Winters’ death. She dismayed not only for what it might mean for the fate of Mrs. Winters, but because she’d been fond of him.

“He was an irresponsible man, but he meant no harm. I’ve known him since we were children.”

“Were he and Mrs. Winters happy?”

She seemed reluctant to say anything negative until he reminded her that anything she told him would be kept in confidence unless it proved required at a trial, and that even the smallest detail might help to find her friend.

“I wouldn’t have called them happily married,” she offered. “For all intents and purposes they lived separate lives. They should never have married in the first place.”

“Why did they? And why stay together once they realized the mistake?”

She smiled sadly.

“Hazel never intended never to marry anyone, but she became pregnant by Sy. She planned to have it quietly taken care of, but somehow her brother Oliver got wind of it, and told their father.

He required that she and Sy marry, or he would cut her off financially. Hazel was smart, but she wasn’t inclined to work hard enough to maintain the lifestyle to which she was accustomed, even if she’d been able to obtain such work. She may have been able to find herself a rich husband, but she didn’t want to be beholden to any man. I think she planned to marry Sy, to appease her father, and then divorce him as soon as possible, either inventing a reason to make her father allow it, or wait until he died. He was not in good health."

She paused for a moment. What she'd said made her friend sound rather cold and calculating, but it was the truth, so she continued.

"Her father did die, not long after she married, and shortly after that she lost the child. There was no longer any reason to remain in her sham of a marriage. Then the courts distributed her father’s estate in a way that left her with half of what she’d expected, and worse, tied her to Sy. Unless she wished him to take a large portion of her wealth, she couldn’t divorce him. She was trapped.”

“That must have made her angry,” Jack said.

“Frustrated, I’d say. But, she found a way to work with it. She’s nothing if not resourceful. She and Sy came to an agreement. As long as she gave him a generous allowance, he stayed out of her way, and let her do as she pleased. It seemed to work for both of them.”

“And did doing as she pleased involve other relationships?” He asked, trying to be as delicate as possible.

“Other men? Yes,” she said, without embarrassment. “They were many, and varied, and none stayed around long. She tended to seek men that were passing through. She didn’t like the complication of bedding a man she might see again on the street or in the clubs. I don’t feel I’m speaking out of turn, Inspector. Her dalliances were common knowledge among our set, and she didn’t hide them.”

Vivian thought that if there was a possibility that one of her encounters had led to her disappearance, then this policeman needed to know about them.

“I realize that the picture I’m painting of her is less than flattering,” she said, “but this is only a small part of who she is. She’s brilliant and funny and wildly independent. She took the portion of the estate she received, and turned it into a small fortune, while her brother has been so careless he is at risk of having to sell the family home. If Hazel were a man, she’d be highly successful and respected. She’s my oldest friend, Inspector. Please find her.”

“I’ll do my best, Miss Lawrence,” he said.

He couldn’t help but notice she hadn’t even asked about her necklace. He thought it said a lot about her character that she would be concerned for her friend and nothing else. She’d been very forthcoming, and while it was good to know some detail of how Mrs. Winters’ lived, the news of her promiscuity, for lack of a better word, was not that useful. Miss Lawrence didn’t know the names of any of the recent men in Mrs. Winters’ life or even if they were still in Melbourne.

It was vexing to Jack that women and men of wealth were free to behave in a manner that would be considered scandalous if engaged in by the lower classes. A married woman of less means, engaging in multiple affairs would be an outcast. Shamed and ruined.

Yet, Mrs. Winters had been open about her affairs. Guy and Isabella Stanley felt free to publicly seek playmates to bring into their unconventional marriage, and while there may be gossip, like the type that had surrounded Phryne for her previous dalliances, none of these people were shunned by their peers.

Whereas he, because of his station and position, was forced to hide his loving and committed relationship with Phryne for fear of reprisal. But then, whoever said life was fair, he rationalized. It was just one of the many perks of wealth and status.

Jack decided to stop by the station before preceding on to Oliver Scarsdale’s home and stepped through the double doors to find that all hell had broken loose.

Hazel Winters had been discovered wandering, dazed, not far from the warehouse where her husband’s body had been found. The patrol Hugh had taken out had discovered her, so at least Jack was confident the scene would have been properly processed.

Mrs. Winters was taken to hospital and put under sedation. She was bruised, slightly dehydrated and delirious, but otherwise whole. The doctors thought it best to let her rest before telling her of her husband’s death, or letting her be questioned.

Miss Lawrence’s missing necklace was located at a pawn shop in Richmond, having been brought in first thing that morning. Jack was livid. Of all the bad luck. The shop had been closed on Sunday, and it’s owner had not yet been made aware to look out for the necklace. He had allowed the woman that pawned it to leave without notifying the police.

It wasn’t until a constable finally got around to that shop, that a connection was made. Hours had passed, and all they had to go on was the rather sketchy description the pawn shop owner gave of the woman. The address she’d used for the pawn ticket, unsurprisingly, turned out to be false.

There was a message waiting for Jack, requesting that he call the Chief Superintendent, and he wouldn’t be surprised to receive a call from the Deputy Commissioner before too long.

Sylvester and Hazel Winters were well known among the upper class. Word of his death, and her apparent kidnapping, had gotten out, and some very wealthy and important people were in an uproar. They wanted answers, and to know that their wives and daughters were safe walking the streets of Melbourne.

One piece of good news, besides the safe recovery of Hazel Winters, was that Hugh and his man had discovered what appeared to be the murder weapon. A Webley Mark IV revolver had been found lodged behind some crates at the back of the warehouse. That weapon would fire the calibre bullet Dr. MacMillan had pulled from their victim.

After finding the weapon, Hugh had concentrated the search in that area, and it was then that they had heard the faint moans of Mrs. Winters and found her stumbling nearby.

She was barely coherent, but from what they could get out of her, it seemed she’d been there all along, tied up inside a small cupboard in the warehouse, and had just managed to free herself. She collapsed before she could tell them anything more.

Jack knew the Sunday crew was not always top notch, many of them new and lower ranked, but he’d had his Senior Sergeant on scene yesterday, a highly competent man. He couldn’t fathom how both the woman and the murder weapon had been missed. It was a black mark against his department, and he knew his superiors would want answers. It was his station, and his responsibility, and he would accept it, but he wasn’t looking forward to the fallout.

He bit the bullet and returned the chief’s call, spending an uncomfortable ten minutes admitting that they had no firm leads and had apparently missed vital evidence and lost precious time. Hopefully, they’d be able to trace ownership of the revolver or get more information from Mrs. Winters when she woke. In the meantime he planned to have the neighborhood around the pawn shop canvased to see if anyone could identify the woman that had brought in the necklace.

“I hope you have some good men available, Jack, and not the ones that missed evidence yesterday,” Clarkson said

Jack and Ben Clarkson had come up through the ranks together. Ben was several years older than Jack and had taken him under his wing when he’d been a Sergeant and Jack a First Constable. At least the man was still calling him by his first name. When he switched to Detective Inspector Robinson, Jack would know he was in trouble.

“I don’t know how that happened, Ben. I promise I’ll personally be on top of every aspect of this case from now on,” Jack said.

“You and I both know that’s not possible. You can’t do it all by yourself. That’s why you have men under you. Bring in the best you have and use them,” Ben said.

“It’s just a hell of a case, Ben. Nothing makes much sense. Was it a crime of opportunity or was this pre-planned?”

“It’s early days yet, and at least the woman’s been recovered safely. We have the necklace in hand and the murder weapon. I’d say that’s pretty good work for one day. I have faith you’ll get to the bottom of this, and I’ll try to keep the DC off your back.”

“Thanks Ben.”

“You’re welcome, Jack, but please, for both our sakes, do your best to wrap this up quickly.”

Once Jack had been caught up on all the relevant details, he sent Hugh to canvas the area around the pawn shop and he went to the hospital to see if he could speak to Hazel Winters. As he walked down the corridor toward her room, Jack was unsurprised to see a a familiar figure with distinctive dark, bobbed hair outside the room. She turned when she heard him approaching.

“Hello Jack,” she beamed.

“Miss Fisher, what are you doing here?” Jack said, smiling. He couldn’t help but smile upon seeing her. It had been a difficult day and she was like a breath of fresh air.

“I came to visit my friend, Mrs. Winters. It’s just terrible what she’s been through,” she said.

“I didn’t realize you were so close,” he said.

“I made her acquaintance at the gala the other night. Lovely woman,” she said.

“Is that so?” he said.

Jack knew that Phryne had barely spoken to Hazel Winters at the gala, but if she’d gotten a chance to speak to her today, it couldn’t hurt. After a trauma such as the one she’d been through, Mrs. Winters might prefer talking to a woman. And, the chief had told him to put his best men on the case.

“And, how is Mrs. Winters,” he asked, sincerely concerned for the woman.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” she said. “The doctor tells me she’ll probably sleep awhile longer. They gave her a rather powerful sedative.”

If that was the case, there was no sense hanging about. He found the doctor and left his card, making sure the man knew to call as soon as Mrs. Winters was able to speak to him.

“Where to now, Jack?” Phryne asked.

“I’m going to go have a talk with Oliver Scarsdale,” he said.

“I’m coming too. I’m acquainted with Oliver. He likes me,” she said.

“I’m well aware,” he said, remembering them dancing together at the gala and the way the man looked at her.

“Now don’t be jealous, Jack,” she said, linking her arm through his, and blinking up at him, “I only use my powers for good these days.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, shaking his head slightly.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said, gripping his arm more tightly and stepping closer to his side.

Oliver Scarsdale answered the door to his stately home himself, looking flustered and out of sorts.

“Miss Fisher!” he exclaimed, apparently not even registering the man that stood by her side. “What a surprise! I’m delighted to see you, but I’m afraid this is not a good time. I’ve just had some terrible news and must leave at once.”

Jack flashed his badge.

“Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. I believe the news you’re referring to is what brings us to your door, Mr. Scarsdale. If we could have a moment of your time,” he said.

It wasn’t a request. Scarsdale stepped aside, letting them in.

“You’re here about my sister and Sy,” he said. “I’ve only just heard. I can scarcely believe it. I was on my way to hospital now, to see Hazel.”

“We’ve just come from there,” Phryne said, laying a hand on his arm, her voice full of compassion and concern. “Hazel is under sedation and sleeping comfortably. She may not wake for hours.”

“Won’t you come in, then?” he said, leading them into a small study off the front entrance. “Would you like a cup of tea? It’ll take a minute. I’m afraid I’m on my own here.”

Phryne glanced to her right, into the parlor. It looked surprisingly sparsely furnished for a home of this size.

“Household staff have the day off?” Jack asked. He was curious as to why a man like Oliver Scarsdale, in a home such as this, had answered his own door. Miss Lawrence had indicated Scarsdale was in financial straits, perhaps that explained it.

“Actually, I no longer have any live-in household staff,” he said. “I live alone and I find I can get by with a housekeeper coming in a few times a week.”

It was said convincingly enough, but seemed well rehearsed.

“Shall I go see about that tea?” he said.

Jack began to say it wasn’t necessary, only to be cut off by Phryne.

“That would be lovely, Oliver, thank you,” she said. Once he’d left the room, she turned to Jack. “That should give us a few minutes to look around.”

“What is it we are looking for?” Jack asked, but he’d already started making a survey of the room.

“You never know when a clue might present itself, Jack.”

“Such as this one,” he said. He was looking at a photograph on the wall of a man in uniform atop a horse. Phryne came to stand by his side. Her shoulder pressing into his.

“Edgar Scarsdale, was in the Cavalry during the Boer War,” she said. “Is that significant?”

“Only in that a Webley Mark IV revolver was found at the murder scene yesterday.”

“The Webley is not an uncommon weapon,” she said, “pretty standard issue service pistol.”

“But the IV was the choice artillery for Cavalry units in the Boer War. It might be more than coincidental that the man’s son-in-law should be killed by such a weapon.”

Oliver returned with the tea service.

“Will Hazel be alright?” he asked, “What happened to her, and to Sy?”

“It appears your sister will recover,” Jack said “and what happened is exactly what we are trying to ascertain. To that end, I must ask you where you have been. My constables have been trying to reach you with the news about your sister all morning.”

“I took a trip out of the city, just returned by train about an hour ago.”

“Where did you go?”

“I took a short trip to Daylesford to see a man about selling my motor car,” he said.

“What kind of car was it, Oliver,” Phryne said, “I have a Hispano-Suiza that I absolutely adore. She flies like the wind.”

She saw Jack’s jaw clench out of the corner of her eye.

“A Talbot 14-45,” he said. “I had her sent over from London a few years back. Straight six engine, sleek and fast. Fabulous vehicle.”

“But why sell her?”

“I find I don’t have much time for racing these days and it seemed a shame to let her gather dust,” he said.

“As fascinating as all this is,” Jack said, throwing a side glance at Phryne, “can you tell me precisely when you left the city and when you returned? And I’ll need the name of the man you met with in Daylesford.”

“I left early Sunday morning, around five,” he said, bending over the desk to scratch out the name and number of the man he’d met, “I met with the buyer in Daylesford at ten. He wanted time for his mechanic to look over the car, so we didn’t settle on a sale until around two that afternoon. He was heading to Ballarat, so he gave me a lift and I decided to spend the night and take the train back this morning.”

“Five o’clock is early to leave for a ten a.m. meeting. It couldn’t have taken more than three hours to get to Daylesford. Less, in such a ‘sleek and fast’ vehicle,” Jack said.

“I’m an early riser, Inspector, and also sentimental. I wanted to take my time on the drive. It was the last one I’d have in that car.”

“Speaking of sentiment, do you keep any mementos from your father’s days in service? A weapon perhaps?”

“Yes, I have his revolver here somewhere.”

“And do you use it?”

“I take the odd day of target practice. It’s been awhile now, though. Father taught both Hazel and I to shoot. At our estate in the country when we were younger. He sold the place after mother died. He didn’t like to be there without her.”

“May I see the weapon?”

Oliver went to a cabinet at the back of the room, rummaged through for a moment before turning back to the detectives, a perplexed look on his face.

“It’s not here,” he said. “It’s always here.”

“When did you last see it?”

“I’ve no idea. As I said, it’s been awhile since I’ve used it. You don’t think the housekeeper could’ve have taken it? She came highly recommended. I must see if anything else of value is missing.”

He began glancing around the room erratically. The phone rang, drawing his focus. He went to answer it and had a brief conversation, consisting mostly of his answering questions in the affirmative and ending by saying he’d be along shortly.

“That was the hospital. Hazel is waking up. I assume you’ll be wanting to speak to her too. May I trouble you for a lift?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done some research regarding weapons, but I may have played a little fast and loose with it and don't pretend historical accuracy. In other words, don't quote me on anything!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack discuss the case over a nightcap, and Phryne finally raises the idea of Jack moving into the terrace home. It doesn't go as well as she'd hoped.

Phryne and Jack sat side by side on the chaise. Jack leaned heavily into Phryne’s side, fighting to keep his eyes open. He hadn’t slept in over 30 hours.

Hazel Winters had been able to shed a little light on what had happened. She confirmed Miss Lawrence’s account of leaving the club, being accosted by a large man and claimed she’d had something pressed to her face that smelled slightly sweet, and that was the last thing she remembered before being shaken awake and being made to call her husband.

She was told to have him come to an address she was unfamiliar with, and could no longer recall, and to bring £5000. The cloth was then, once again, held over her mouth and the next thing she remembered was waking, gagged and tied to a chair in a cold, dark room. 

When Jack asked if her husband would have been able to come up with that kind of money on short notice, she explained that they’d taken to keeping some cash on hand, after the crash of the US market and the collapse of some banks globally.

They asked if she’d remembered anything else and she’d said that on occasion she would hear someone outside the door, and once, she heard two male voices arguing. She drifted in and out of sleep, working to free herself whenever she was awake, and eventually managed to loosen her bonds.

She appeared devastated to learn of her husband’s death and after that news was too inconsolable to talk further. Jack and Phryne left, resolving to return in the morning, when she might be calmer and able to recall more details.

“Her description of the attack, with the use of a cloth across her mouth and a sweet smell suggests chloroform, don’t you think?” Phryne said.

“Possibly,” he agreed. “If that’s the case this could hardly be a crime of opportunity. How many people carry chloroform around with them?”

“And it has to be used carefully to knock a person out. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you’ll kill them. What do you think of Oliver Scarsdale’s story? Do you believe he was away yesterday?”

“It should be easy enough to confirm. But even if he was, he still would’ve had time to be in the alley and to have killed Sylvester Winters before leaving town. He’d just have had to leave later in the morning than he claims.”

“The house seemed oddly empty,” she said.

“Yes. Miss Lawrence said something about his possibly having to sell,” Jack said.

“Really?” Phryne exclaimed, finding that bit of information very interesting. “And, he sold his racing auto. If he is in financial difficulties...” she glanced at Jack.

Jack yawned widely. 

“Come up to bed Jack,” Phryne said. “You’re no use to anyone like this.”

“I can’t,” he said, getting slowly to his feet.

“You are not going back to the station,” she said firmly. “You need sleep.”

“I won’t go to the station, but I have to go home. If I’m needed, that’s where they’ll call.”

He’d left word not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency, but one never knew.

“Call and leave word for them to reach you here,” she said.

“I can’t,” he said again, wearily.

“Of course not!” she said angrily. “God forbid someone find out about us! This is becoming ridiculous!” 

“What do you suggest, Phryne? I’m not like you. There will be repercussions for me.”

“But all this back and forth. It’s running you ragged,” she said, “you must see that this situation is untenable!”

“Again,” he said, “What is the alternative?”

“I may have a solution,” she said.

“If you’re about to suggest that I move in here, it’s out of the question,” he said. 

He’d actually considered it on occasion, wondering if she’d ever suggest it. The thought of living with her was enticing, but unrealistic.

“Not, here exactly,” she said. “I’ve been considering this for some time now, and I think it could work. My latest tenant will leave at the end of the month. Why don’t you move in next to Hugh and Dot?”

“Into the terrace home? In your backyard! I don’t think so,” he said. He was too tired for this.

“Why not? It’s a perfect solution. You’d be close by, but still on your own.”

This was not how she’d planned to start this conversation. In fact she hadn’t even been sure now was the time. Then, to have picked a night when he was run off his feet. It was spectacularly bad timing.

“It’s too close,” he said.“I’d be able to see right into your bedroom, and what happens when there is another, Phryne? How am I to deal with that?”

“I’ll tie a scarf to the back balcony,” she said sarcastically. “Or perhaps we can work out something with the lights? A kind of morse code, warning you to keep your distance.”

“Is that suppose to be funny?” he said, bluntly, “It’s not.”

“I didn’t offer a serious response, because it’s a ridiculous premise.”

“It’s a concern,” he said.

“Not of mine, Jack. How long must it be before you accept that I have no plans to ‘entertain’ anyone else?” she said.

She couldn’t believe it. She’d had no idea he was still so insecure about this. There’d been no one else. Not for, well, not since they’d begun, she realized with a start.

“That could change,” he said, quietly, looking down at his hands. 

Her mood softened. He looked so tired and vulnerable and her heart ached for him.

“It’s not likely,” she said, approaching him and placing her palm on the side of his cheek, waiting for him to look at her before continuing. “I would never take another lover before talking with you. And I no longer anticipate needing to have that talk. I wouldn’t suggest this if I did.”

He searched he eyes for a long moment. When he didn’t reply, she said, “Is this really a concern of your’s Jack? After all this time?”

“I don’t hear you saying it’s an impossibility,” he said.

“Well, anything is possible,” she said, doubtfully. Tilting her head in an unconscious mimicking of a gesture she’d seen often. 

“Except, apparently, you marrying me,” he said, dully.

She stepped back from him as if slapped.

“You’ve never asked,” she said, breathlessly.

“If I had, would you have said yes?” 

“I don’t know, Jack. Is it something you want? You’ve never even brought it up.”

He sat down heavily on the chaise, dropping his head into his hands.

“I don’t know what I want Phryne. I’m tired, and confused. The only thing I know that I truly want, is you.”

She went to stand between his knees, putting her arms around his shoulders and pulling her to him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and pressed his head to her.

“You have me, darling,” she said. “Come to bed. I’ll leave a note for Mr. Butler to wake you early, and we’ll talk about everything else another time.”

He began to object, but she cut him off.

“Hazel Winters has been found. The case will still be there in the morning. What could possibly happen in the next few hours that couldn’t wait? Come to bed.”

He let her lead him upstairs to her room, where she helped him to undress, taking her time to kiss and caress him tenderly. She knew he was too exhausted for much else, but she wanted to feel him. She tucked him into bed, undressed and lay down beside him. She could complete her washing up once he was asleep.

He reached for her and pulled her close.

“Did you know your cousin Guy has a history with Hazel Winters?” he asked, sleepily.

She looked up at him, curiously. He just nodded.

“It was awhile ago, but they were seen arguing at the club that night. Just how desperate for money is Guy?”

They had yet to find Guy and Isabella’s alibi witness, but Jack had pretty much dismissed the possibility of Guy’s involvement in the kidnap and murder. With the discovery of the gun, his suspicions went to Oliver Scarsdale. And, the violence associated with the theft of the necklace seemed beyond Guy, unless he was very desperate.

“You don’t think Guy could have anything to do with this?” she said. “He didn’t need the money that badly, and I’m sure he knew I’d help him out, which I did, this morning.”

He huffed slightly, thinking she was a bit of a softy for coming to the man's rescue, but only pulled her closer. He was beyond tired, but she was so warm and soft. He ran his hand slowly down her back, feeling the shiver that ran through her body. She shifted closer to him and lifted her head.

He brought his mouth to hers, kissing her lazily, letting her push her tongue into his mouth and enjoying the taste of whiskey and the slight hint of vanilla from her lipstick. Her hands moved slowly over his body and he felt himself responding to her touch. She threw a leg over his hip, pulling him to her, and moaned when she felt him stiffening against her.

The sound made him crazy and his kisses became more urgent, more forceful. He rolled her onto her back, pressing between her thighs.

“Wait,” she gasped, “Wait.”

She untangled herself and rushed to the bath. She hadn’t been prepared for this, assuming him to be far too tired. Now that they’d started, she wanted to get back before he fell asleep. She inserted her device carefully, but quickly and hurried back to the bed.

He was very drowsy, but still awake, and it didn’t take much coaxing to return him to his previously aroused state. When he groaned and thrust into her hand, she pushed him onto his back and straddled his thighs, lowering herself and taking him wholly inside her, with an audible sigh.

His hands came to rest at her hips, gripping them firmly. His eyes were closed and a small smile sat upon his lip.

“Mmmm, Phryne,” he murmured, “you feel so good.”

“Shush, darling. Relax. I’ve got you,” she said as she began to ride him. Slowly rocking her pelvis against his.

His mouth dropped open and his hands slid up her to cup, and fondle her breasts. She arched, dropping her head back and began to move faster, rising and dropping her hips. She clenched her thighs to created a tighter fit, and came down on him hard to bring him deep inside her.

When she felt him getting close, she opened her eyes to find his eyes on her, dark and hungry. His gaze held for a moment, and then dropped to the place where they were joined. He licked his lips and swallowed hard. She saw the muscles in his neck tighten and his jaw clench as he thrust up into her. He was still watching as she moved above him, revealing him, only to take him deep inside her again with each fall of her hips.

She was like a silk glove, and he fit inside her so tight and secure. This is where he belonged. This was his home. 

When her hand came between them and she began to touch herself, it was all he could do to hold on. He fought to stay with her until she could catch up. 

He sat up and pulled her to his chest, holding her securely as she shook and clenched around him, while he poured his body and soul into her, giving her all of him, to keep forever.

They dropped back down to the bed and he held her close as their breathing returned to normal.

“I love you Phryne,” he said. “You’re all I need.”

“I love you, too,” she said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Sleep now, Jack.”

When he was sound asleep, she slipped from the bed and went to wash up. She thought about the conversation from earlier. Would she have married him, if he'd asked? 

She loved him. She knew that beyond a doubt, but marriage? She realized it wasn’t the permanency of it that scared her. After all, in today’s world, with divorce rather readily available, marriage wasn’t necessarily permanent, and she could no longer see her life without Jack in it, so this seemed rather permanent already, with or without a marriage license. 

She wanted him in every way. As her partner, lover, friend and life-long companion. 

But, to marry? To become Mrs. Jack Robinson? As much as she loved him, she still couldn’t see herself in that equation. She didn’t think she ever would.

If that’s what he needed, would she lose him? 

She walked back to the bedroom and stood for a minute, watching him sleep. His hair was tousled on the pillow, his face relaxed and peaceful. He had faint traces of her lipstick around his mouth, and his glorious, long eyelashes lay on his cheek. He was beautiful, and the best man she had ever known. She wouldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever. 

She climbed in beside him, being careful not to wake him, and settled in by his side.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne can't sleep as thoughts of a future with Jack swirl through her head. By morning, she is sure of what she wants.

Phryne was awake. As she had been off and on all through the night. Each time she woke she was acutely aware of Jack, and where he was in the bed. She’d crawled in while he slept and snuggled in beside him, curling against his back and throwing her arm protectively across his chest. When she awoke later, they were turned away from each other, their bodies touching only at the small of their backs. Now, she lay with her back to his front, several inches of space between them, his arm draped casually across her waist.

She could feel his steady breathing on the back of her neck. He slept so peacefully, she was careful not to move, not wanting to disturb him. It was still terribly early, and a downpour of rain contributed to the darkness in the room.

She hadn’t slept well, because she couldn’t turn off her overactive mind.

_“If I had, would you have said yes?”_

They’d slid past it. Never really addressing it, but his question had played on repeat in her head all night long. And each time her answer was different.

No, she wouldn’t have said yes, she wouldn’t agree to marry him. But then, why not? If she’d already decided that she loved him, that she would always love him, and always want to be with him, then why not marry?

In some ways it would make things so much easier. They could live together openly. He wouldn’t worry about her taking other lovers. Although why a piece of paper, and some words, should convince him of her fidelity more than her own actions did, she’d never understand.

If that’s all marriage was, a simple commitment between two people that loved each other, she’d probably say yes. But it wasn’t that simple. Society made it so much more than that. Her public persona would become that of Mrs. Jack Robinson. She would always be seen as the secondary party in any transaction, if she was consulted at all. And how would it look in their work? The Detective Inspector, indulging the little woman, letting her tag along on his investigations. Now they felt like equals. If they married, would that change?

For every reason in favor, there were three against. But what if he needed it? What if there came a time he couldn’t continue without it? Would she marry him rather than lose him?

Every time her brain got stuck in this endless loop, a solution presented itself. A solution she was now sure that she wanted. She was so sure it could work, if she could convince him that it would be enough. It would be lovely. She could almost see it.

Jack coming home each night to the little house. It would be his own private sanctuary, a place for peace and quiet, where he could have his own things, and retreat to when he needed space. He would make the short walk through the garden, and they could have supper together most nights.

She was having a hard time finding a down side. She would no longer have to worry about being caught sneaking into his home, or about leaving her car where it might be seen by nosy busybodies. And what better neighbor could she find for Dot and Hugh? Jack doted on little Charlotte as if she were his own blood relative. It was perfect.

They could be together in the way they wanted, while maintaining a facade of separation that would appease the social conventions of the day. She would still be Phryne Fisher and he Jack Robinson, but they would be one in all the ways that mattered to her.

She was sure about it, but it made her anxious. It was a frightening prospect, because he’d been right about one thing. Having him so near would have an impact on her privacy. There’d be no hiding anything from him. Then again, there’d been no hiding anything from him since the day they met.

The permanency of it was alarming as well, partly for how unafraid of it she felt. Nothing she could think of would convince her it couldn’t work. Something deep inside told her this was right. It felt right. But, how to convince him?

* * *

 

Jack woke the next morning early, as he always did. He could hear rain against the windows, and he wanted nothing more than to lay in bed all day. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.

When he stirred, Phryne immediately turned to him, as though she’d been awake and waiting for him to move.

“You look better today,” she said smiling. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” he said, kissing her on the tip of her nose and brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes were wide and alert. A very unusual sight at this hour. They were locked onto his, as if searching for some answer to an unspoken question.

“Phryne?” he said, “Is something wrong?”

She knew this was, once again, very bad timing, but she couldn’t help herself. She been doing nothing but thinking. If she had to go all day with these thoughts swirling around in her head she’d go mad.

“You said some things last night that surprised me,” she said, hesitantly.

“In my sleep?”

“No,” she said with a small smile, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. “I meant earlier. About my not wanting to marry you.”

“Oh,” he said, rolling onto his back, a burning sensation growing in the pit of his stomach. He’d ambushed her on the subject of marriage. They had never even discussed it before. It had been patently unfair.

“I’m sorry if what I said upset you,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know where that came from. It’s not something we need to worry about. I was tired and frustrated and truthfully, in no fit state for that conversation.”

“I know,” she said, “I should never have begun it, and you didn’t upset me. But Jack, I do think we need to consider where we go from here. What we want in the long term.”

He continued staring at the ceiling, his heart pounding in his chest. Why had he said that about getting married? He’d scared her, and she was putting up walls. He didn’t think he could take this now.

His silence and the way his jaw clenched made her anxious. She swallowed her anxiety and rushed on, trying to get out what she needed to say before she lost her nerve.

“I know it may not be what you have in mind, but I meant what I said about the terrace house. I thought more about it after you fell asleep. I think it could be a good solution for us, and the house is yours if you want it. I’d like having you near, but, maybe it’s not what you want? Maybe you need more?”

He looked at her then, moderately concerned. Her behavior was a little manic. She was talking really fast.

And what was happening with her voice? It was high-pitched, with an oddly frantic cadence and she was ending each sentence in rising crescendo. He was afraid last night’s conversation had really thrown her for a loop.

He wanted to reassure her, but didn’t know how to answer her. The truth was that he still didn’t know how he felt about the idea of their marrying, but he did know for certain that he couldn’t take her pity. He didn’t want to hear her tell him that it could never happen. That if he required it, they would have to part. He wasn’t ready for that yet.

“It’s very early Phryne,” he said. “Do we have to do this now?”

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I!” she said, a slightly hysterical laugh bursting from her. She sat up, holding the sheet against her body. “Of course. You’re right. This is hardly the time.”

Oh, dear, he thought. This is bad. She was never so solicitous. Whatever was going on in her head, he was afraid his comments had set it off. This house idea was probably her way of trying find a solution that didn’t include getting married. He was sure that she’d brought it up on a whim last night, and that now she felt painted into a corner.

He sat up and placed his hands on her arms, rubbing them soothingly and leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Phryne, you don’t need to make me any promises. I’m not about to spring a proposal on you. I’m happy with what we have. Nothing need change. We were both tired last night and said some things without thinking.”

“But that’s just it. I _have_ been thinking, and I didn’t speak out of turn,” she wanted him to know that she was in earnest, despite her slightly panicked delivery, “You taking the terrace house is something I’ve had in mind for some time now. I had planned to introduce the idea in an entirely different manner, not blurt it out like I did, but I am serious about the offer. Is it really so hard to consider?”

“You’re serious? You’d want me to live there? So close?” he said. “Look. What I said about your not wanting to marry me. It was unfair and it came from my own insecurities. You don’t need to do this. You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything!” she insisted. “I love you Jack. If I were to ever marry anyone, it would be you, but I can’t see myself as anyone’s wife. Not even yours. What I can see is us being together, being partners and lovers for as long as you’ll have me, and I want you near. I’d have you move in here in a heartbeat if I thought it was something you’d consider, but the terrace house seems a better solution for now. I think it’s an idea worth considering. Will you think about it?”

He blinked slowly, trying to take all of this in. She loved him. She wanted him, now, and for the foreseeable future. She wasn’t going to put up walls or distance herself, and this idea was, apparently, a fully formed one, not a last minute act of desperation.

The slight tilt of his head told her what she needed to know, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“If you really want me to consider it, I will,” he said, feeling alarmingly excited by the idea. “But I want you to think more about it too. Think hard Phryne, because this would be a big step for us. If I make this move it would be rather permanent. We’ll talk again soon. But not too soon. Not while we’re in the middle of this case. I want to give this idea - I want to give us - my full attention, and right now, I can’t.”

“That’s fair,” she said.

She could leave it for now. She felt confident that she’d planted the seed. She’d have to give it time to grow.

Jack called in to the station for an update and was told that Constable Collins had been in and was already out again, following up on a lead he’d uncovered regarding the stolen necklace. Hugh had been showing a lot of initiative lately and, in doing so, had lightened Jack’s load considerably.

He still preferred to have Collins with him over any other constable when investigating, but more and more, they went in different directions and compared notes later. It wouldn’t be unexpected, if in a few years, Hugh was tapped to run his own station, and he’d lose him at City South.

When he returned to the room to get dressed, his clothes were no longer on the chair where he’d left them, and to add to the morning's surprises, Phryne was up and out of bed, wrapped in her black silk robe.

“I’ve given your suit to Mr. Butler for a quick press,” she said, going to her chest of drawers and pulling a brand new dress shirt from it. “And don’t get angry at me for purchasing this,” she said. “I thought it might come in handy some day. You’ll get to the station much faster if you don’t need to run back home to change, and no one will notice if you’re wearing the same suit as yesterday.”

He didn’t want to point out that he’d actually be wearing it for the third day in a row now, seeing as he’d slept at the station the night before. At least today, he’d have a clean shirt thanks to her thoughtfulness, and an un-rumpled suit, due to Mr. Butler’s expertise.

“Thank you,” he said, sincerely, pulling her to him for a long, deep kiss.

“Go wash up,” she said, beaming. “We’ll have a quick breakfast and you can dress after.”

She’d long since set in a razor for him, so he went to the bath and got cleaned up, then joined her, still in his robe, for breakfast.

They said no more about the house, or their previous discussion. They talked about the case, or nothing at all, and it was nice to sit there with her for awhile before going in to work.

When he was ready to leave, she wrapped her arms around his waist, and kissed him soundly.

"Can I give you a lift to the station? I could be dressed in a jif," she said.

"No, thank you, love," he said. "The rain has slowed, and a short walk will do me good. Give me time to clear my head."

He didn't really clear his head, in fact, as he made the walk to the station, he allowed himself to think seriously, for the first time, about Phryne’s proposal. If he took her up on the offer of her terrace home, they could have more mornings like this, sharing some quiet time together before he began his hectic day.

There would have to be a lease. It couldn’t be a gift. He would insist on paying the going rate to her. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering this, but it wasn’t an unattractive idea.

It would almost be like living together, but with the benefit of each of them still having their own space. They could pass back and forth between each other’s homes with incredible ease. He doubted they’d be fooling anyone, but it would have the appearance of propriety. That might be enough. By the time he reached City South, he’d very nearly convinced himself it could work.

He found Hugh waiting for him, and someone else as well.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected visitors interrupt Jack's work on the case, and bring enlightening revelations for him in his personal life.

“Good morning, sir. I’ve brought in a woman this morning who admits to pawning the necklace. She’s in the cells,” Hugh said. 

“Excellent work, Collins,” Jack said. “How did you find her?”

“I showed the sketch around in a few neighborhoods yesterday, and more than one person thought it looked like a woman that waits tables at a local cafeteria in the mornings. I went round there today and waited for her. It didn’t take much to get her to tell me about the necklace. She seemed scared out of her wits,” he said, “kept saying she needed the money.”

“Did she say how she got her hands on it?”

“No, sir. That’s when she clammed up.”

“Well, let’s get her into interview and see what we can find out.”

“First, you might want to step into your office. Mrs. Winters is waiting for you.”

“Hazel Winters?” Jack said. “I assumed she was still in hospital.”

“Apparently not, sir.”

“Well then, we’ll have to leave our guest waiting in the cells a bit longer. I’d like you to join me in my office and take notes while I speak to Mrs. Winters. Maybe she’s remembered something helpful.”

“Mrs. Winters, I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Jack said, walking round to take his seat behind his desk. He introduced Hugh then said, “I’m surprised to see you out of hospital so soon. I hope you’re well.”

He looked her over with a critical eye. Physically, she looked fine, with no visible bruising. It appeared that Miss Lawrence had borne the brunt of the worst violence perpetrated by the kidnapper.

“I couldn’t lay there any longer,” she said. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with me. All I could do was think of poor Sy, and I need to find out who did this.” 

“I understand,” Jack said sympathetically. Even if their marriage had not been one of love, they had lived together for many years, and it was possible there was some true affection between them.

“What I don’t understand is why he was killed,” she said. “£5000 is missing from our safe, so I’m quite sure he paid the man as asked. Why kill him? 

“You’re sure the missing amount is £5000?”

“Yes, I know exactly how much money we had in that safe, and how much is now missing,” she said. “Do you think Sy may have been able to identify the man that killed him? That, possibly, it was someone known to him, and that’s why he was killed?” 

“It’s possible,” Jack said. “But it was no one you recognized. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” she said, “but Sy and I had our own sets of friends and acquaintances, I wouldn’t know everyone he did.”

“Is there something you've remembered that might help us? Have you recalled more about your abductor, what he looked like, or something he said?”

“I’m afraid not, Inspector,” she said. “I told you all I could remember yesterday.”

If that was the case, and she had nothing to add to her statement, he was having a hard time understanding why she had come to speak to him.

“He was strong,” she said, “and taller than I. That’s really all I can tell you. He wore a heavy jacket and a cap, pulled low and he covered his face with a dark kerchief. He didn’t speak much. I don’t recall anything terribly distinctive about him.”

It was not much to go on. The kerchief was the only significant difference from the details Miss Lawrence had provided. Jack thought that odd. Surely Miss Lawrence would have noticed that the man had his face covered, but perhaps it had all happened too fast. 

It suddenly occurred to him that Mrs. Winters had not once asked about Miss Lawrence. Not when they’d seen her in the hospital and not now. It seemed strange, that she would not inquire after someone that was suppose to be one of her closest friends. 

“Miss Lawrence gave a similar description,” he said, watching Mrs. Winters closely to see her reaction at the mention of her friend’s name.

“Poor Vivian,” Mrs. Winters said, in much the same tone as she had used when speaking of her husband. “She came to visit me at the hospital last night. I was so relieved to see that apart from a few bruises, she was well. Although it’s a great shame about the necklace.”

The expression Mrs. Winters wore was one of studied control. Jack found himself thinking that it was the face she puts on to demonstrate compassion or concern. He wished Phryne were present. He would've liked her opinion on Mrs. Winters' demeanor. 

Normally he wouldn’t divulge information during on ongoing investigation, but an idea had formed in his mind and he was curious to explore it.

“I will be calling on Miss Lawrence later today with some good news. We’ve recovered her necklace and hope to be able to return it to her soon,” he said.

“That is good news, and surprisingly fast work,” she said, something flashed in her eyes, confusion or perhaps surprise. A moment later her expression was once again inscrutable. “Where was it found?”

“It was brought to a local pawn shop and we’ve located the woman that brought it in,” he said.

“A woman?” she said.

“Does that surprises you?”

“Well, as it was definitely a man that attacked us, yes,” she said. “Are you sure it is the same necklace?”

“Without a doubt,” he said. “It is a very distinctive piece. We are hoping the woman will tell us how she came into possession of it, and perhaps lead us to the man that held you captive. Until we have him in custody, I’d like to have one of my men assigned to protect you.”

“Protect me? Whatever for?”

“Someone took you for a reason, Mrs. Winters. Whoever did, is a ruthless and dangerous individual. It would be for your own safety.”

“Surely this was a crime of opportunity. The man took me for the money, which he now has. He must know that any further attention in my direction would only increase his chances of capture. I’m sure I’m quite safe, Inspector. I cannot live my life with a police escort trailing after me.”

“We would be as unobtrusive as possible.” 

“No. I refuse to live in fear,” she said firmly. “I’m sure there are far better places to focus police resources.” She stood to go. “I’d like you to keep me informed of any information you uncover. Have you any other significant leads, other than the necklace?”

“Nothing I am at liberty to discuss,” Jack said. “I will keep you abreast of the investigation as much as possible, and please, let me know if you remember anything more.”

“I will, but as I said, I remember little.” She turned to go then stopped and turned back to him. “There is one thing that keeps niggling at the back of my mind. I told you that I’d overheard an argument between two men.”

“I recall,” he said. “Presumably, your captor was one of them.”

“I believe so, and for some reason I have this impression that the other of the voices was known to me. I’d just begun to regain consciousness, and everything is rather fuzzy.”

“Could the voice you recognized have been your husband?”

“No. It wasn’t Sy. It’s just a vague thought, lurking in my memory, but I can’t shake it and I try as I might, I can’t place the voice. I realize that’s not much help. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t trouble yourself too much.” Jack said, walking her out. “You’ve had traumatic events befall you. Sometimes things will come to you with time and rest.” 

“Thank you Inspector Robinson,” she said, smiling what he thought was probably her most charming smile, and resting a hand on his arm. It was bordering on flirtatious. “You’ve been so generous with your time. I will be sure to be in touch if anything else occurs to me.”

After she’d gone, he cocked his head to one side with knitted brows

“What do you make of that, Collins?” he said. “I’m at a loss to explain the purpose of her visit. She didn’t have anything new to tell us. And she wasn’t looking for protection or reassurance. I don’t know what she wanted.”

Hugh glanced at his notes, which barely filled one page in his small notebook.

“Other than confirming that £5000 was apparently missing from her safe, she didn’t offer much. We already had the description, such as it is, and other than the vague idea that she recognized a voice, there was nothing of value.”

“No,” Jack said, “yet I have the feeling there was a very distinct purpose to her visit, and that we just haven’t discovered yet what that was.”

Next they interviewed the woman that had admitted to pawning the necklace. She was even less forthcoming than she’d been earlier, now saying she’d found the necklace. She said it had been entangled among debris in the gutter of a street not far from the cafeteria where she worked. She said it glittered as she passed and had caught her eye. She said she never imagined the gems were real, but thought it pretty, and figured it would fetch some money. 

It was obviously a lie and Jack suspected she had cooked up the story while sitting in the cells. He had no way to prove she was lying, but he did not want to let the woman go just yet. He felt justified in holding her until they could investigate her story.

He sent Hugh back to the cafeteria where she was employed to see what he could find out about her, and any possible associates, and to trace her route from her home to work to try to confirm or disprove her story.

He was heading back to his office when the constable on duty stopped him. 

“Chief Superintendent Clarkson is waiting for you, sir.”

“Where?”

“He’s in your office. He arrived about ten minutes ago, said he wanted an an update. I told him you were in interview, and asked if he wanted me to interrupt, but he said he’d wait for you.”

Jack nodded. How many unexpected interruptions would this day hold? This one couldn’t be good, he thought, tugging nervously on his suit coat and running his hands over his hair as he walked to his office. Ben never stopped by without an appointment, and usually, Jack went to him.

He opened the door to find Ben Clarkson sitting behind his desk, looking through the case file. He looked up when Jack entered, but made no move to exit Jack’s seat.

“Chief Superintendent,” Jack said, “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Just a few minutes,” he said casually, “and we can drop the formalities, Jack.”

Jack breathed a sigh of relief, shut the door behind him and sat down on the opposite side of his desk.

“What brings you by, Ben?”

“I’ve been thinking about this case. It really is a bit of a head scratcher isn’t it? I miss working investigations, and this one has me intrigued. I just thought I’d stop by and see if there’s anything new.”

“Everything we knew up to yesterday is in the file, and Collins has found the woman that pawned the necklace. She’s not telling us much yet, but we’re hoping she can shed some light.”

“Good,” he said. “I couldn’t help but notice the mention of Guy Stanley in your file. Would that be Prudence Stanley’s son?”

“Yes,”

“And, if I’m not mistaken, Prudence Stanley is Aunt to Miss Phryne Fisher?”

“Also correct.”

“So, Guy Stanley is...”

“Miss Fisher’s cousin, yes.”

“And he was seen arguing with our kidnap victim and is, I assume, a suspect. Has he an alibi that eliminates him? I don’t see confirmation of that in the case file.”

“His alibi has not yet been confirmed, so he hasn’t been entirely eliminated, but there is other evidence that points away from him as a suspect.”

Clarkson closed the file and dropped it on the desk.

“Let’s not beat around the bush here Jack. It’s common knowledge that, on a fairly regular basis, Miss Fisher gets involved in investigations. Is she involved in this one?”

There wasn’t much that Clarkson didn’t hear about, so Jack could be fairly certain he already knew that Phryne had been at the hospital yesterday and possibly that she’d gone with him to the Scarsdale residence.

“To a degree,” he said. “She is an acquaintance of Mrs. Winters and wanted to help locate her if she could, and then help find the person responsible.”

“And you’ve allowed it?”

“I find that Miss Fisher can be a valuable asset. People often tell her things they wouldn’t tell a police officer. In this case, in particular, having someone they view as a peer has been helpful. Doors are more open to me when she is along.”

“I can understand that,” Clarkson said thoughtfully, “but, this case, where her relative is a suspect. Do you think it’s wise to let her so close?”

Jack knew where Ben was going with this. It was the same reason he’d hesitated to tell Phryne what he knew about Guy and Hazel Winters, but Jack had decided to trust her and he wasn’t going to second guess that trust now.

“I can see why you’re concerned, Ben, but I trust that Miss Fisher will follow the evidence wherever it leads, just as I will.” 

“Even if it leads to her cousin? You trust her that far? You know your reputation is at stake here, Jack.”

“I’m aware of what is at stake, and yes, I do trust her, implicitly,” he said. 

Ben Clarkson folded his hands together as though in prayer and pressed them to his lips, watching Jack with a thoughtful expression.

“We’ve known each other a long time, Jack, and I consider you a friend, so I’m going to speak to you as a friend now, not your boss.”

“I value your friendship, Ben. Speak your piece.”

“It’s an open secret that the relationship between you and Miss Fisher goes beyond professional. You won’t try to deny that, will you?”

“No.”

“There are some that grumble about her getting preferential treatment from you, and being allowed to influence investigations.”

“That I will deny,” Jack said. “I don’t believe I consider her contributions above any other information that comes to my attention. She has an amazing investigative mind and what she discovers is often very valuable. I don’t believe my feelings for her cause me to exaggerate that value.”

“Well, no one can argue with your success rate. I know the Deputy Commissioner is very pleased with your work.”

“Then what is the issue?”

“The issue, I guess, is more of a personal one. People talk, Jack, and she’s seen by many as being a somewhat frivolous woman. I’d hate to see your reputation damaged.”

“How, exactly, would my relationship with her damage my professional standing? I do my job and I do it well. I have no aspirations to higher office, I like where I am, and should my personal relationship with her end, whose concern would that be? Other than mine?”

Saying this out loud was cathartic. He suddenly realized that he didn’t give a damn. People could whisper, hell, people could shout. He’d defend her work as a detective with his last breath, and as for the rest of it, that was nobody’s business but their own.

“Are you sure you don’t want to aim for higher office? You’d be an excellent candidate.”

“I’m not cut out to sit behind a desk, or play politics. No offense,” he said, “It’s just not for me. I’d go mad.”

“No offense taken, I sometimes think I’ll go mad myself. I miss the investigating, but Mary is much happier with me safely behind a desk,” he said. “Which brings me to a highly personal question, one of great interest to my wife, and which you should feel free not to answer.”

“What would Mary like to know?” Jack said with a small smirk. 

Ben’s wife Mary was a sweet and nurturing woman. When she’d heard that Rosie had moved out, she’d made Ben bring Jack to dinner frequently, and had fussed over him as though he were a wounded bird.

“You know my Mary has always been fond of you,” Ben said, “She was saddened when things soured between you and Rosie, and she would like see you happy. As would I. Are you happy Jack? Do you think you and Miss Fisher will someday marry?”

Jack laughed out loud at the question. It seemed this topic was going to stubbornly keep presenting itself until it was faced.

“Tell Mary I appreciate the concern, and that I am happy. As to marrying Phryne, anything is possible, Ben,” he said, “but I don’t think it likely. I’m somewhat set in my ways, and Phryne has never been much interested in marriage.”

“But, should you ever decide to try for higher office, being seen as a stable, family man would go a long way. And if you love each other, isn’t marriage the logical progression?”

“I find logic and Miss Fisher don’t always go together,” Jack said. “I won’t say that I’ll never marry, but I don’t see that marriage must necessarily follow love. I’ve seen plenty of loveless marriages, and plenty of a marriages that began in love, but couldn’t be sustained. My own included. Phryne and I are happy with what we have now. It works for us.”

Jack couldn’t help but wonder why this was so easy to say to someone else, but not to himself. And he wasn’t just saying it. He was happy with things as they were.

“I see. Then I’ll tell my wife you are happy, and leave it at that,” Ben said.

“We’ve strayed far off the topic of this investigation, which I really should get back to,” Jack said. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss? Any other concerns? My eating habits, or perhaps whether I’m brushing my teeth?”

“I’ll leave those topics for the next time you come to dinner,” Ben said laughing. “Might you be persuaded to bring Miss Fisher along next time? Mary is very keen to meet her.”

“If an invitation is issued, I’m sure I can arrange that.”

“One last thing,” Ben said, “the gun that killed Mr. Winters. It appears to have belonged to Edgar Scarsdale?”

“Yes, we’re working to verify that this morning, but it seems so.”

“That puts an interesting spin on things, doesn’t it?” Ben stood to go, “Be sure to keep me updated. I do miss a good investigation,” he said with a sigh.

He came around the desk to shake Jack’s hand.

“And you were damn good at it,” Jack said. “Feel free to dip your hand in, and help me out whenever you want.”

“You don’t need my help, Jack.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation takes a few steps forward but still puzzles the detectives.

The ballistics report confirmed that the bullet pulled from Mr. Winters had come from the gun they had found, and the military records showed that it had belonged to Edgar Winters. Oliver Winters’ claim that the gun had been stolen, was highly suspect. Jack had no proof otherwise, but it was far too coincidental it would be stolen by an unknown party, and then used to kill his brother-in-law.

He stood up to go speak to Constable Rodgers, to find out if he’d reached the buyer of Oliver Scarsdale’s car in Daylesford. He had his head bent over the case folder and nearly ran smack into Phryne as she strode into his office, unannounced.

“Phryne!” he cried, his alarm causing her Christian name to slip from his tongue. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, that’s a lovely greeting,” she huffed, “and the question is, what are _you_ doing here, Jack.”

“We’re in my office,” he said. “Where should I be?”

“We were meant to meet at the hospital over an hour ago, to speak to Mrs. Winters again,” she said.

“Mrs. Winters is no longer in the hospital,” he said, slow to catch up with her train of thought.

“I’m aware of that!” she said irritably, “I’ve just come from there, where I cooled my heels for over half an hour before giving up on you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “It’s been a hectic morning and I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.”

Actually, he’d completely forgotten that they’d made plans to meet. That had been before the whole discussion about their relationship, and living situations, and marriage. After which, the meeting had completely flown from his brain.

“Well, I’ll forgive you this once,” she said. “Shall we go seek her out at her home?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said sheepishly, “I’ve already spoken to her today.”

“Without me?” She plopped herself down into the chair by his desk, crossing her arms and legs, awaiting an explanation.

“She was in my office when I arrived this morning,” he said, leaning against the desk, next to her.

He filled Phryne in on the oddity of that meeting.

“Well, obviously, the woman was fishing,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “She wanted to learn what you know.”

“That had occurred to me,” he said, wryly. She wasn’t the only detective in the room. “What I don’t understand is why she didn’t just ask outright, instead of putting on pretense. And then, ending with that bit about recognizing one of the voices, as though it had just occurred to her. It was clear she was trying to manipulate me.”

He remembered the smile and touch of her hand, as she’d been leaving. Her attempt at flirtation had seemed calculated, arousing his suspicions.

It had been reminiscent of his first meeting with Phryne, over the outline of a dead body. Her flowing pink and red dress, in contrast to the white tile of the bath. The way she’d touched her face and blinked up at him, claiming to be concerned at being, _“a woman alone, in a dangerous town,”_ her deft analysis of his crime scene having already convinced him she was anything but helpless.

That encounter had been charming and intriguing, and had set off alarm bells of an entirely different kind than the one today. At least, that's how he remembered it now.

“Maybe I’ll pay her a visit later,” Phryne was saying, pulling him back to the present. “As a concerned acquaintance. If she is hoping to recover the ransom money, I could offer her my services.”

“Yes,” he said, “and to persuade her to hire you, I’m sure you’ll imply the police are far too incompetent to be trusted with the task.”

“It’s been a successful tactic in the past,” she said, “and true in some cases. Present company excepted.”

She placed her hand upon his thigh, just above his knee and gave it a small squeeze, causing him to glance to the hall outside his door to make sure no one was passing. He cleared his throat and moved around the desk to sit in his chair, not seeing the little smile that crossed her face. She enjoyed that, even now, a fairly innocent touch could still get such a reaction from him.

“Before setting out for the hospital, I stopped by Aunt Prudence’s to speak to Guy,” she said. “Your having told me of his past dalliance with Hazel Winters, and an argument the night of the kidnapping, got me thinking. I wondered why he hadn’t mentioned any of that to us.”

“Perhaps he didn’t want Isabella to know of their history?”

He didn’t need to see the incredulous look on her face to realize the absurdity of that statement. He had a hard time imagining being happy with the type of open relationship those two shared, but it seemed to work for them.

“The argument had nothing to do with money,” Phryne said. “Apparently Guy had suggested that Hazel might like to accompany him and Isabella back to their apartment. This was before Isabella had found them a playmate.” She rolled her eyes in such an exaggerated manner he had to stifle a laugh.

“Hazel not only turned him down, but expressed fairly strong disgust at the idea. Guy was insulted, and reminded her that she’d not always found him so unpalatable, and they traded barbs for a minute or two,” she said. “That was all there was to it, according to Guy.”

“Well, if he’s being truthful, it’s no motive for kidnap and perhaps there was no harm done in his not telling us of it.”

“Oh, don’t let him off the hook that fast, Jack. I’m not done,” she said.

“Do I want to know more?”

“Before he approached Hazel, he saw her in what looked like a very private conversation with another man. The man seemed unhappy, shaking his head rather insistently, while Hazel appeared to be trying to cajole him. Guy assumed she was proposing a tryst, and had been turned down, which is why he thought she might be open to his invitation.”

“And when the woman went missing, he didn’t think this worth mentioning? Incredible,” Jack said. “Could he describe the man? Did he know him?”

“No, he just said the man was a burly type, with dark hair. The man left straight after speaking to Hazel.”

Jack rubbed his temples.

“I know he’s your cousin Phryne, but what goes on in that man’s head? This information would have been helpful two days ago,” he said.

“What can I say? Guy has never thought of anyone but himself. I doubt he ever will. Do you think the man she spoke with could be the man that kidnapped her?”

“We have such a vague description, it’s hard to say, and she claims not to have recognized her abductor. If she did know the man, what possible reason could she have to lie?”

“Sir?” Hugh Collins stepped into the doorway of Jack’s office. “Good day, Miss Fisher,” he said, nodding to her, not at all surprised by her presence in his boss’s office. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know I’d returned.”

“What did you discover?”

“I spoke to her employer,” he said, opening his notebook and consulting it. “Her name is Jenny Slader, and she’s worked at the cafeteria for three years. She’s a good worker and well liked by her boss and co-workers. She always worked the morning shift because she has a young daughter who is apparently afflicted with a life threatening illness, practically bedridden from what I understand. Mrs. Slader works days and her husband, nights so that someone is always home to take care of the girl.

“Who are you talking about?” Phryne said. Jack explained quickly about the woman that had pawned the necklace.

“I walked the route from her work to her home, she does travel along the street where she claimed to have found the necklace,” Hugh continued. “There was no one at her home. No sign of the husband. I could find no one that saw her with the necklace, so I couldn’t disprove her story that she found it just that morning and took it directly to the pawn shop.”

“Did you learn anything about the husband?”

“He works a cleaning shift overnight at the Women’s Hospital, and does other odd jobs when he can pick them up. He wasn’t at work the night Miss Lawrence and Mrs. Winters were assaulted, but he is usually very reliable and has been there every night since. I got his photo from his employment file. Tom Slader,” he said, handing over the photograph.

It showed a dark haired man with broad shoulders and a thick neck. Since it was only a head shot, there was no telling how tall he might be, but the neck suggested a heavier build.

Phryne went around the desk and leaned over Jack to study the picture.

“He has kind eyes,” she said. “Do you think that’s our man? If he works at the hospital, he’d have access to chloroform, and perhaps the money was needed for his daughter’s care.”

“Possibly. But would he return to work after getting his hands on £5000 and a valuable necklace?”

He turned to Hugh.

“Let’s get a man on the hospital tonight to see if Mr. Slader shows up for his shift. And release Mrs. Slader, but put a detail on her. Plain clothes. Maybe she’ll lead us to him. You can choose your own team, Collins,” he said. “Miss Fisher and I will take this photo to Miss Lawrence and Mrs. Winters.”

“Right, sir,” Hugh said, turning to go.

“Wait, Hugh,” Phryne called. “You said the house was empty when you checked it?”

“That’s right,”

“So, where is this very ill, and bedridden daughter?” she asked.

* * *

Phryne and Jack went first to Miss Lawrence, who did not recognize the man in the photo, and couldn’t identify him as her attacker.

“It happened so fast, and it was dark in the alley. I never really saw his face.”

“My friend, Dr. MacMillan, tells me you often volunteer at the Women’s Hospital,” Phryne said. “This man works as a cleaner there at night, are you sure you’ve never seen him?”

Vivian took the picture and gave it another, longer look, but still shook her head.

“No, I’m sorry I don’t recall ever seeing him, but I’m never there in the evenings. You say his wife had my necklace?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “It is now in our custody and we should be able to return it to you once it is no longer needed as evidence.”

“Please, don’t concern yourself with that. I’m glad it’s recovered, but there’s no hurry in returning it. I’m more concerned that you find whoever is responsible for killing Sy Winters and holding Hazel captive. When I went to see her, she was putting on a brave face, but I know she is shaken to the core. I do wish there was some way I could help. Perhaps I can make inquiries among my acquaintances at the hospital about the man?”

Jack exchanged a glance with Phryne, a small smirk playing on his lips. The last thing he needed was another young lady that fancied herself a detective.

“Thank you Miss Lawrence, but my men are taking care of that, and I don’t want you putting yourself at any risk.”

The next stop was Mrs. Winters, who also claimed not to recognize the man in the photograph.

“Are you sure you’ve never seen him?” Jack asked. “We have a witness that claims to have seen you speaking with someone that looks like this man, in the club, the night you were abducted.”

Guy’s description of the man he’d seen talking to Mrs. Winters had been frustratingly vague, but he had said the man had dark hair, and so did Mr. Slader, so Jack’s statement was merely an exaggeration, and not an absolute lie.

Without even glancing at the photo again, Mrs. Winters repeated her assertion that she’d never before seen the man. As to any conversations with strangers at the club, the witness was mistaken, she said. She couldn’t recall speaking to anyone other than the people she had arrived with, all of whom were already known to her.

“I’m not one to frequent such places and converse with strangers,” she said, her hand going to her throat and her head dropping as though she felt ashamed. “I was there purely on a flight of fancy that night. It was quite out of character for me, and my trip there is now, as you can imagine, something I highly regret.”

“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” Phryne said kindly. “What happened was in no way your fault.”

Hazel flashed her a grateful smile, then turned her attention to Jack, who’d been watching her with a calculated eye. Miss Lawrence had claimed she followed Hazel Winters into the alley because Hazel was familiar with the club. Hardly fitting with her claim not to frequent such places.

“I do appreciate how hard you are working to find the man that did this, Inspector,” she said, reaching out for him and leaving him with no option other than to take her hand. It was either that, or leave it to hang awkwardly in the air between them. She held his gaze, intently, “I wish I could be of more use to you,” she said.

Her statement was loaded, and her thumb slipped along the back of his hand. He patted her hand with his other, free one, and pulled himself from her grasp.

“I’m sure you’re doing the best you can, and that you will keep me informed of anything else you might recall,” he said.

“And, take my card,” Phryne said. “Feel free to call me as well, with any concerns. There are avenues open to me that may not be to the police. I could be of help in recovering your missing funds.”

Hazel took the card, but barely acknowledged Phryne’s offer of help.

“Well, that was useless,” Phryne said as they made their way back to the car. “Though, she certainly was keen to distract you. What do you think that was about?”

“What makes you think she was trying to distract me? Perhaps she simply finds me attractive,” he said, pretending to be miffed.

“Of course she finds you attractive, darling,” she said, placing her hand on his chest and toying with his tie. “But I do think she has ulterior motives.”

His heart leapt in his chest. He loved it when she called him darling, and whenever she played with his tie, he went all soft and warm inside. How was it possible that just her slightest touch still sent an electric current through him?

“Speaking of ulterior motives,” she said. “Can I expect you for supper tonight?”

“I think not,” he said. “I haven’t been home in days. I plan to stop back for a quick bite and to change, and then I thought I might go wait at the hospital in case Mr. Slader turns up.”

“You have men for that,” she said. “Why don’t you give me your keys, I’ll have Mr. Butler fix us up something and meet you at your house later.”

That sounded far more appealing than sitting at a stakeout, and he willingly handed over the keys. They decided to go their separate ways then, Phryne would head to the hospital to see what Mac might know about Mr. Slader, and Jack would return to the station to see how they were getting on with verifying Oliver Scarsdales alibi. Phryne would head, once again to see Cousin Guy, to see if he recognized the man in the photograph as the one he'd seen talking to Hazel Winters.

It was just after six when Jack left the station. He felt justified in leaving so early. He’d been there since early morning, and had undercover officers watching both Mrs. Slader and the hospital.

They even knew where the daughter was now. After her release, Mrs. Slader had headed straight to a building not far from the hospital. After she’d left it, Jack’s man inquired, and found it was some sort of clinic for chronically ill individuals. The daughter was a patient there, but, in protecting the families privacy, the clinic wouldn’t give further information.

The door to his home was unlocked when Jack arrived. He was happy to see Phryne’s overnight case sitting just inside the door, and even happier to find her, curled up in her chair, having nodded off with a book in hand. He woke her with a kiss to her temple.

“Oh darn, you’re here,” she said.

“Not the welcome I was hoping for,” he replied.

“I meant to have everything ready for your arrival. I was going to lay in a fire and set the table. I’ve brought candles and everything,” she pouted. “Then I saw my book. I’d started it last time I stayed, and have been wanting to continue it. I just planned to read for a short while.”

He pulled her to her feet and kissed her fiercely, her hands wound up around his neck as she happily returned the kiss and pressed herself to him. He pulled away, holding her chin delicately in his hand, stroking gently along her jawline and looking into her eyes.

“I don’t need candles and firelight, Miss Fisher. Coming home to find you, is more than enough,” he said. “But, it is a bit cold in here, so what if I light the fire, while you set the table for supper.”

“You’ve already lit a fire, Inspector,” she said, gripping his lapels, “but we’ll let it smolder for awhile, until after I’ve fed you.”

While they ate Phryne told Jack that Mac did indeed know Tom Slader from the hospital. She’d met the wife too, one of the times they’d brought their daughter in. The poor girl suffered from unexplained seizures. Hundreds a day. At four years old she wasn’t speaking yet, and couldn’t be left alone for even a moment because they never knew when a seizure might occur.

Mac was very surprised that Tom might be involved in any kind of criminal activity, much less an assault and murder. She said he was a gentle man, devoted to his wife and daughter.

“She’s convinced we are barking up the wrong tree.”

“Well, as it is the only one we have as of now, I’m afraid I’ll have to keep pursuing this lead, regardless of Dr. MacMillan’s good opinion.”

"And one other thing," Phryne said, "Guy couldn't be sure Slader is the man he saw speaking with Hazel Winters, but I did learn that it was Hazel that suggested the outing to the speakeasy. I had thought the idea was Guy's, but Isabella said that Hazel had suggested it first."

"But," Jack said, feigning incredulity, "Hazel Winters doesn't frequent that type of place."

"You didn't believe that for a minute."

"No. And I'm starting to disbelieve nearly everything that comes out of her mouth."

After cleaning up the dinner dishes, they stood warming themselves by the fire. Jack leaned against the mantle, sipping the whiskey in his hand.

“This is very nice, Jack. Spending some quiet time together at the end of a day. Don’t you think?” Phryne said.

“We said we wouldn’t discuss it until after the case, Phryne,” he said, with a warning tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow.

“Discuss what? I’m just making an observation.”

“I see,” he said, reaching to push her curtain of dark hair behind one ear and lazily letting his finger trace the line down her neck to her collarbone. “Then I won’t tell you that I’ve been doing some thinking today.”

“Thinking?” she said, arching into his touch, “what kind of thinking?”

“Just that sharing breakfast with you this morning, and now supper tonight was very pleasant, and I’d very much like to be able to do that on a regular basis, but I still have reservations. Hugh’s opinion not being the least of them.”

“Hugh?” she said, perplexed. “What does Hugh have to do with anything?”

“It occurred to me that he might not be that keen to have me next door.”

“Don’t be absurd, Hugh adores you.”

“I don’t know about that,” he laughed, “I’m his boss. He sees me nearly everyday. He might not welcome having to see me on his days off as well.”

Phryne opened her mouth to make a rebuttal, but couldn’t think of anything. This hadn’t occurred to her. She had no doubt that Hugh was fond of Jack, looked up to him even, but had to admit that Jack had a point. Perhaps it would make Hugh uncomfortable to have his boss so close to hand.

“Well, we needn’t worry about that now,” she said. “We’re not discussing it until after the investigation is complete, right?”

“You’re the one that brought it up.”

“I didn’t. I just said that this is nice. And it is,” her hand went to his tie, and once again, he felt a warmth fill him beyond what the fire provided.

“Perhaps it might be equally nice in the bedroom,” he offered. “Nicer even?”

“I don’t know, Jack,” she said, her hands already working the buttons on his waistcoat. “I’ve often noticed how very plush this rug in front of your hearth is, and the fire is so lovely and warm.”

She was right about the rug. It proved surprisingly comfortable and they now lay tangled together under a blanket he’d fetched from the bedroom. He was flat on his back, his arm holding her tucked to his side, one of her legs lay between his. Her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder, while her hand lazily played along his abdomen and chest, making small circles that sent pleasant shivers through him.

“You will bring this rug with you when you move, won’t you?” she said, making him chuckle quietly. The deep rumbling in his chest shot through her, and she pressed herself closer to him.

When the phone rang, it was not unexpected, but they both groaned unhappily. She watched him as he went to answer it. Watching him walk away was one of her favorite pastimes, and when he was naked, and she could see all the muscles and tendons in his back and legs, it was that much better.

He hung up from the call and turned to her, sighing. The sight of her laying in the firelight, upon the rug, and knowing she was completely naked beneath the blanket, made the thought of leaving her nearly unbearable.

“They have Slader,” he said. “He came in to work just as scheduled. Hugh is waiting for me at the station before speaking to him. I have to go.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said.

“There’s no point in both of us losing sleep,” he said, but the look on her face told him it was a lost cause.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces start falling into place and both Jack and Phryne are eager to finish with the case and move on to more personal matters.

Tom Slader was not going to crack. He was sticking with the same story his wife had told. She had found the necklace and, needing money, took it directly to the pawn shop. He said he’d never been anywhere near the speakeasy.

He claimed he had missed that one night of work because they had just that day, moved their daughter from their home to a clinic for treatment of her chronic seizures. His wife wanted to stay the night with the girl, as it was the first time she would be away from them since the day they brought her home from hospital. He had gone home to prepare for his night shift, but had fallen asleep, and overslept.

“That’s unusual for you, isn’t in Mr. Slader,” Jack said, “Your employer tells us you are very reliable most of the time.”

“That’s true, I am reliable. But, you see, uh,” he faltered. “My Jenny weren’t home to wake me,” he said, clearly having come up with the explanation that very moment.

“What time did you wake?”

“It were around four in the morning.”

“And what did you do then?”

“I decided to go spell Jen, so as she could rest before her work.”

Jack, Phryne and Hugh left him waiting in the interview room, while they conferred next door in Jack’s office.

“I believe he knows more than he is saying, but he seems an unlikely sort for the crime,” Phryne said.

“That clinic must cost a fair amount,” Jack said, “maybe he was desperate for the money.”

“But where would he have got the idea?” she said. “Do we really believe he planned this? And how would he even have known the women would be at that club?”

“You’re right, it makes no sense. There is no apparent connection between him and either Miss Lawrence or Mrs. Winters. We don’t really have anything to hold him on,” Jack said, “but, I think we can get away with keeping him here until we check out his story.”

“I’ll go round to the clinic,” Hugh said.

“No, you go home, Collins. You’ve been on since this morning. I’ll go to the clinic,” Jack said. “Perhaps you can give Collins a lift home, Miss Fisher.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” she said. “That’s fine, Jack. I have some things I can be getting on with.”

“In the middle of the night?” He said, “You’re not planning to go poking around anywhere on your own, are you?”

She simply shrugged, leaving him with no doubt that was exactly what she planned to do.

Phryne dropped Hugh at his home and then made a quick stop at her own to change. Within the hour she was walking into the dark, smoky confines of the speakeasy. Even on a night in the middle of the week, the place was doing a brisk business. She sized up the men working behind the bar, settling on one muscular young man in particular.

Vivian Lawrence had said that Hazel was familiar with this establishment, and knowing of Hazel’s fondness for variety in men, along with a wish to avoid entanglements, Phryne had a hunch she wanted to explore. She had enough experience of her own with this type of establishment, and wasn’t surprised by the events that followed.

She watched the bartenders interacting with several women. One woman approached the one Phryne had noticed, and pressed something into his palm, then disappear down a dark hallway. He followed a minute later, returning to the bar after an absence of around ten minutes.

Phryne waiting another half hour. She found a partner and danced on the edge of the floor where the bartender would be able to see her. When she was sure she’d caught his eye, she approached the bar.

“This is quite an establishment you have here,” she said, in her friendliest manner. The man didn’t seem to mind the way she raked her eyes over him appreciatively. He leaned over the bar, appraising her in a similar fashion.

“Haven’t seen you in here before, and I’m sure I’d remember. What can I get ya, luv?”

“Whiskey, neat. And, it’s my first visit, but I’ve heard good things,” she said, brushing her fingers lightly over the hand he had splayed on the bar.

“What kinds of things?” he said, as he poured her drink.

“Well,” she leaned in, giving him a full-on view down the front of her low cut dress. “I’d heard the music was delightful, and I do love to dance. It makes me feel quite friendly. I’m told there are some equally friendly people to be found here. I do hope you are one of them.”

“I can be friendly enough. Given the right incentive, and you just might be incentive enough all on your own,” he said, a lascivious grin spreading across his face.

“I do like a man that knows what he wants. My friend, Mrs. Winters, has a lovely little arrangement with someone she met here. If I were assured of the same discretion, I might be interested in such an arrangement myself.”

“You’re friends with Hazel?” he said, stiffening slightly.

“More acquaintances, really,” Phryne shrugged, pleased to have confirmed that he knew Hazel Winters. “Are you the friend she spoke of? Because if that’s the case, I’m delighted.”

He was silent for a moment, and seemed to be considering what to say next.

“Are you married, luv?” he asked. “I see no ring, but I’ve learned that don’t always mean much in here.”

“Does it matter?” she said. “For what I have in mind, it shouldn’t be a concern.”

“A lot of ladies come here because they find their lives - unsatisfying,” he said, pausing for effect. “I’m happy to help with that, but some get the wrong idea. They get too attached, if you know what I mean.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. My husband is a lovely man, just not very adventurous. Sometimes a woman just wants a little variety,” she said. “Did Hazel get too attached?”

“Let’s just say she became very dissatisfied with her husband, and was looking for more help in that direction then I wanted to provide,” he said. “I think she thought we were in love, and that I would want her to be free,” he said.

“Be free?” Phryne repeated, as though she hadn’t understood his implication, “Whatever do you mean?”

“It don’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “As long as we’re clear that this ain’t personal, this ain’t love. I’m only interested in providing a little distraction, in return for some consideration. If that’s understood, then I think you and I can come to an agreement. One I’m sure we’ll both find satisfying.”

“That sounds like just what I have in mind. No attachments, just a bit of fun,” she said, “And I think you’ll find me very considerate.”

He looked over her expensive dress and jewelry.

“Why don’t you slip down the hall, sweetheart? There’s a room at the end. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll meet you in a few minutes, and we can discuss business.”

With a wink, Phryne sashayed from the bar, watching until he turned his back to serve a customer. Then she rushed through the crowd and out the back door into the alley.

It was an hour or two past the time it would have been when Vivian and Hazel had used the same exit days earlier, but still very dark. She could understand why neither woman had got a good look at their attacker. Though she was more and more in doubt that Hazel Winters was a victim at all.

A theory had begun to form in her mind, but she couldn’t quite figure out how Tom Slader and his wife fit into it. Perhaps they were telling the truth about finding the necklace, but that seemed improbable. Why would anyone steal it, just to toss it into the street?

She hurried down the alley to her car and drove home to catch an hour or two of sleep. Jack would be following up on Slader’s story. She could call him when she woke and tell him her theory.

She didn’t sleep much and rose around six, immediately calling the station. Jack was at his desk and answered on the first ring.

"You're up very early, Miss Fisher," he said, "Or haven't you been to bed yet?"

"I tried Jack, but I couldn't sleep," she said. "What did you learn at the clinic?"

He’d released Tom Slader. His story basically checked out. The clinic had him signed in at four thirty that morning. They don’t usually allow visitors at that time, but since it was the Slader girls first night, they’d made an exception. The nurse on duty remembered both Slader, and his wife, being at the girl’s side until the wife left around six. He stayed on with his daughter until almost noon, making it impossible that he was the one to kill Mr. Winters.

“So, he is not our killer,” Jack said, “but he still had the opportunity to take the necklace and kidnap Hazel Winters.”

She filled him in on what she’d learned. He listened quietly, and if he was angry with her for going alone to the speakeasy, he mostly kept it to himself, other than to say he wished she wouldn’t take such risks.

“At least you’ve confirmed that Hazel Winters was very well acquainted with that establishment,” he sighed.

“And, the bartender implied she was keen to be free of her husband,” Phryne added, “Are we absolutely sure there even was a kidnap, Jack? I’m starting to think this entire thing has been orchestrated by Hazel Winters herself. The necklace is a red herring, meant to distract us and make this look like a crime of opportunity.”

“But someone hit Miss Lawrence in that alley,” he said, “Unless you’re suggesting she is in on this too, and beat herself unconscious. That’s preposterous, and Miss Lawrence’s concern for her friend was sincere.”

“I think you have a bit of a soft spot for Miss Lawrence, Jack,” she said. “Perhaps it’s obscuring your vision.”

“She’s lovely, to be sure,” he said, egging her on. He liked it when she acted jealous. “But, I’m insulted that you think I’d let that influence me. _I_ am not so easily distracted by a pretty face.”

“Is that to imply that others of us are?” she said, loftily. “You know I don’t allow myself to be lustfully compromised during an investigation, darling. Except by you, of course.”

“I should hope so, Miss Fisher,” he said.

“I’ll miss having you for breakfast this morning, Jack,” she said, her words heavy with meaning.

“As will I,” he said, swallowing hard.

He wanted this case to be over, so they could have some time together talking of things other than murder and mayhem. He wanted to talk about the two of them, and where they were taking this. He wanted more than stolen moments with her.

As soon as this case was finished, he’d find a way to talk to Hugh, to see if he’d be open to the idea of having him for a neighbor. He wasn’t looking forward to that. It was bound to be uncomfortable, but he felt it was only fair that Hugh and Dot have a say. The last thing he wanted was to make his friends uncomfortable in their home.

He hung up the phone and perused the case file again, reading through it one more time for anything that might jump out at him. If Tom Slader was not the killer, who was? It seemed to Jack that it all came down to the gun and who had access to it.

It had been determined that Oliver Scarsdale had met with the man that bought his auto around ten o’clock, as he’d said, and they confirmed that he stayed overnight in Ballarat, but that still gave him at least three unaccounted for hours, when he claimed to have been taking a leisurely drive to Daylesford.

Phryne’s theory that Mrs. Winters had somehow orchestrated the whole thing to get free of her husband was an interesting one, and she surely would have had access to the gun in her brother’s home. If she did plan all this, was her brother in on her plan? Did he help her out of her unhappy marriage? Perhaps in return for £5000?

He had just decided to pay Mr. Scarsdale another visit, when the constable at the front desk told him that Hazel Winters was on the phone, wishing to speak to him.

* * *

Phryne made her way to the kitchen. Dot had arrived for the day. Hugh was off this morning and was home keeping an eye on Charlotte. He’d drop her over when he had to go in to the station in a few hours.

“Oh, good. You’re here,” Phryne said to her, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Sit down and have a cup of tea with me. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Dot thought it was a lovely idea. Inspector Robinson would make a much nicer neighbor than some of the other tenants Miss Fisher had found. Dot was very much looking forward to seeing this latest one go. He complained whenever Charlotte got a bit too rambunctious or cried too long. The man was far too fussy. Miss Phryne had gone through all sorts of trouble to make the walls as sound proof as possible, and her little Lottie was an angel.

Inspector Robinson could see that. It warmed Dot’s heart they way he looked at her little girl, and held her so gently in those big hands of his. Lottie giggled so happily whenever her Uncle Jack played with her. Dot would be glad to have him as a neighbor.

If having Inspector Robinson move in next door had the added benefit of make Miss Phryne happy, then Dot was all for the plan.

“But, how will Hugh feel,” Phryne asked. “Will he be alright having his boss so near? Jack is quite concerned that he be accepting of the plan.”

“You leave Hugh to me, Miss Phryne. When I’m done, he’ll think it was all his own idea!”

“You are a treasure Dot,” Phryne said.

Mr. Butler interrupted to inform Phryne that Mac was calling, and wished to speak with her.

“It’s a bit early to expect to find me out of bed, isn’t it Mac?” Phryne said.

“I thought of a connection to Tom Slader,” Mac said without preamble.

“You mean he might have crossed paths with Vivian Lawrence?”

"Not Viv,” Mac said. “Hazel Winters.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of exposition and monologue-ing as the killer is revealed. Hopefully now, the detectives can concentrate on more important matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains reference to premature delivery, the loss of a child and childhood illness. I wanted to warn ahead of time in case anyone might be upset by the topics and wish to avoid.
> 
> I've been trying to post a chapter daily, but I want to get these next ones right so it might take a little longer. I appreciate readers, and the comments I've received. I hope you'll stick with me to the end, which is coming soon. I promise!

“Slow down, Mrs. Winters,” Jack said, “Can you say that again?”

The woman was hysterical.

“I can hardly believe it. I don’t want to believe it,” Hazel said, “I think he’s very drunk, or on something. He doesn’t sound like himself. He said it’s all his fault and he’s sorry. He said he never meant to hurt anyone.”

“Who said that?” Jack said calmly, hoping his tone would settle her down a little. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“I was awakened by a call from Oliver. He was rambling on about being responsible for Sy’s death. I can scarcely believe it. I knew he was in financial trouble, but I never dreamed he’d do something like this. It must have been _his_ voice that I recognized while I was held captive. I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself. He just kept saying he was sorry and asking me to forgive him.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“At home, I presume. I’m going over there now, I was hoping you could meet me. I have to stop him from doing anything stupid. He’s my brother.”

“I’d rather you stayed away, and let the police handle this, Mrs. Winters. If he is desperate, he could be dangerous.”

“He’s my brother,” she said, again. “He won’t hurt me, and I need to make sure he’s alright. I must go.”

She hung up. Jack slammed the phone down. Another woman that wouldn’t listen to sensible advice. Were they all like this?

While he’d had his suspicions regarding Oliver Scarsdale, Jack didn’t entirely trust Hazel Winters. He would head to the Scarsdale residence, but with a note of caution. He didn’t know what he’d find there, but that wasn’t all that different from most days on this job.

He’d given Collins the morning off, since he’d worked such long hours the day before, and only Constable Bett was available right now. Bett seemed bright enough, but he was newly minted and very green. Jack thought he’d be better off on his own than taking along someone he’d have to watch out for. He told Bett where he was going and rushed out the door.

 

* * *

 

Mac’s explanation of how Hazel Winters might have become acquainted with Tom Slader revealed a side to the woman Phryne could never have imagined. The hospital had been buzzing with the word that the police were questioning Tom Slader in connection with a violent crime. Mac had gotten into a discussion with a friend, a nurse that worked in the maternity ward. Her friend had provided the connection between Tom Slader and Hazel Winters.

It seemed Vivian Lawrence wasn’t the only one to give her time to the Women’s Hospital. Hazel Winters often volunteered in the maternity ward.

The nurses there were too busy to provide hands-on care and they relied on volunteers to help with holding and feeding the newborns, when a mother was unable. Several weeks ago, a young girl had gone into early labor. She and the child had survived the birth, but the girl had lost a great deal of blood, and was too weak to care for her child.

The infant was surprisingly strong, but fussy, needing a lot of attention. Hazel Winters had spent several nights on the ward, soothing and feeding the infant. She’d stay all night, catching short naps in an empty room so she could be near should the baby cry.

“The thing is,” Mac said, “I’ve seen her at the hospital myself. I just didn’t know who she was at the time, and didn’t make the connection.”

“And you think she may have met Tom Slader while there?”

“I know she did,” Mac said. “Anna, my nurse friend, said she saw them talking on more than one occasion. Tom likes to come look at the newborns on his breaks.”

“That puts a new spin on things,” Phryne said.

“I still can’t believe Tom would hurt anyone, Phryne,” Mac said. “He’s a good man.”

Phryne thought her friend might be right. She’d had the same impression, and she trusted Mac’s instincts. She was also learning that Hazel Winters was a highly complicated woman, and possibly, a very manipulative one.

Phryne called Jack immediately after ringing off from Mac. The constable on the desk told her he’d gone out after receiving a phone call. He was a new man at the station, and didn’t know Phryne. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell her who the call was from, or where Jack had gone.

“I’m afraid I’m going to need your husband to pull rank for me, Dot,” she said as the women hurried down the path to Dot and Hugh’s home.

Hugh handed his daughter off to his wife and dressed quickly, then he and Phryne rushed to the station. On the way she filled him in on her theory that Hazel Winters had somehow persuaded Tom Slader to help fake her kidnapping, and kill her husband.

Once Hugh asked, Constable Bett was quick to tell them that he’d put a call through to the Inspector from Hazel Winters, and that minutes later, Inspector Robinson had rushed out, saying he was going to the home of Oliver Scarsdale.

“On his own?” Phryne said, in alarm. “Have you a weapon, Hugh?”

Bett stood blinking like an owl, as his Senior Constable obtained a firearm, and then flew from the station with the pretty lady on his heels. He felt he’d missed something very important. He’d only been at City South for about a week, but it seemed a good station, and the DI a decent sort. He realized he’d seen the lady before too, coming to visit the DI. He had a feeling working here was going to be very interesting.

* * *

 

When Jack arrived at Oliver Scarsdale’s home another car was already in the drive. Hazel Winters’ he presumed. He laid a hand on the hood. It was cold. If she’d been calling from her own home, as she’d implied, and just rushed over, it should still be warm to the touch.

The front door was ajar, and the normal reaction would have been to enter that way, but he remembered the layout from his previous visit with Phryne. On that visit the home had appeared sparsely furnished, but for the study off the entry. The study seemed to be Oliver’s room of choice, and if Jack’s memory served, there were large french windows at the back of the room, facing the side garden. He decided to walk round to them, to see if he could get a look inside. He wanted some idea of what he was walking in to.

A curious scene met his eye. Oliver Scarsdale sat at the desk. His sister stood behind him. She appeared agitated, and was saying something Jack couldn’t make out. She kept glancing up at the door to the study, as if watching for someone.

Jack tested the knob, it was unlocked and he slowly opened it a crack so he could hear what was being said.

“Why Hazel? Why are you doing this?”

Oliver Scarsdale spoke slowly, his speech slightly slurred. He turned his head to his sister, he looked groggy and dazed.

“Just write it, Oliver!” she said angrily. “Can’t you do anything right?”

Oliver put pen to paper, but seemed unable to make his hand cooperate.

“You’re useless,” she barked, “It’s too late, I’ll have to do without it.”

She stepped back from him, and raised a pistol to his temple. Jack sprang from his hiding spot, he lunged and knocked her forward. She slammed into the desk and fell to the ground, but didn’t lose her hold on the weapon. Jack fell too, having thrown himself off balance in his attempt to stop her.

As he got to his knees, he saw her turn and point the pistol his direction. Her first shot missed the mark. She’d fired in haste, before regaining her balance. It gave Jack enough time to launch himself at her and grab her wrist, forcing her hand up, so that her next shot fired harmlessly into the ceiling.

The doors to the study were flung open, and Hugh and Phryne burst through, guns drawn, just in time to see Jack put Hazel face down on the ground, and pull her arms behind her back.

“Have you your cuffs handy Constable?” he said calmly, as though unsurprised by their sudden arrival.

At the sound of the gunshots, Phryne’s heart had stopped. Now, seeing Jack, apparently safe and whole, her legs nearly gave out from under her. She felt tears begin to well in her eyes.

Is this how it was for him? All those times he’d rushed to save her, only to find that she already had things under control? She resolved to never again be so flippant in such situations. She wanted to run to him now, and throw her arms around him, and never let go.

An ambulance was called for Oliver Scarsdale who was slumped over the desk, clearly having been drugged. Hazel Winters was transported to the station and, once Phryne had filled Jack in on the connection to Tom Slader, a car was sent to pick him up and bring him in as well.

Tom Slader broke down and admitted to stealing the necklace. He and Hazel Winters had become friendly those nights she volunteered at the hospital. Tom liked to watch the babies. It reminded him of those first nights after his child was born. Those precious days before the seizing had started. His Violet had been so perfect then.

Mrs. Winters was sympathetic, and he told her about a new treatment that could help Violet. There was a clinic where she would be put on a strict diet that had been shown to reduce seizures. It was promising, but something he and his wife could never afford. She’d told him she might have a way to help.

She’d come back to the hospital one night, and told him she had a plan. She asked him to meet her at a speakeasy the next night, to help her get her hands on a necklace that she wanted. She said it had belonged to her mother, but that her father had given it away to his mistress, and she wanted it back. It had great sentimental value to her, she’d said.

If he would help her to retrieve it, she would pay him enough to cover Violet’s medical costs for a year. No one was suppose to get hurt. She said she could give the other woman something that would make her sleep. She just needed Tom to be seen by the woman before she passed out, so that Hazel wouldn’t be blamed for the theft.

When he met her that night, she told him to wait for them in the alley and said that he would have to hit the woman and at least knock her down. The drug she’d given her should do the rest to leave her unconscious long enough for them to make their escape. He objected. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she reminded him that it was the only way to help Violet, so he went along.

The plan was for him to knock the woman down, take the necklace from her and then give it to Hazel Winters. She would give him the money she’d promised, and they would go their separate ways. But, once he’d taken the necklace, Hazel started screaming, and he’d panicked and run.

He went to the clinic and told his wife everything. They still needed the money, and he wouldn’t go back to Mrs. Winters. They fretted over it for a day, and then decided to pawn the necklace. They thought it would be less suspicious if Jenny made the transaction. After that, they tried to go back to their normal routine. When Jenny was brought in for questioning, he became fearful, but she was released, and they decided to stick with her story of having found the necklace in the street.

He said he’d never spoken to, or seen Hazel Winters again, and was shocked to read of the death of her husband and her kidnapping in the papers.

* * *

 

Hazel Winters knew she had lost. She’d been caught out attempting to kill her brother, and had shot at a police officer as well. The plan to kill Oliver had been ill conceived, but try as she might to point them in that direction, the police had been too slow to arrest her brother. She'd left her father's gun where it would be found, and made up that ridiculous story about recognizing a voice, and yet, they still hadn't fixed on Oliver. She'd panicked and made a mistake. She wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of this now, and she was tired. Tired of all of it.

She confessed to planning to whole thing. She was very calm, and almost cold as she told her story.

She’d been trying for months to find a way to get rid of her husband. She’d thought the bartender at the speakeasy was infatuated enough that she could convince him to help. He’d listened, very sympathetically, to her made up tales of Sy’s cruelty, but in the end, it turned out he wasn’t infatuated, just very good at pretending. Much like herself.

Then, the opportunity with Tom Slader had presented itself. She felt sorry for the man and his wife. He was so devoted to his poor, sick little girl. She was a little sorry to have taken advantage of that, but, needs must.

The necklace idea was inspired, she thought. She’d always admired it, and had convinced Vivian to wear it that night to the gala, telling her it was too lovely to let sit in a safe gathering dust. It had never belonged to her mother, but she thought the story made her more sympathetic to Tom.

The theft also provided a witness to her own kidnapping. She’d slipped some laudanum into Vivian’s drink at the club. Enough to make her woozy, so that she’d be sure to be incapacitated by Slader’s blow.

Her only mistake was not warning Slader that she would cry out after the attack. She’d startled him and he’d run. She hoped to somehow be able to recover the necklace, but it wasn’t really of consequence. Vivian had served her purpose. The larger plan, the one to fake her own kidnapping and lure Sy to his death was the more important.

She’d already stolen her father’s gun. She just needed a scapegoat, and thought her brother the perfect choice. The fool had squandered nearly all of his inheritance, and was on the verge of having to sell their childhood home.

When Jack had burst in, she had just been trying to get him to write a suicide note, confessing to everything, but she’d given him an overdose of laudanum, and he’d been too groggy to follow her instructions.

“The fool couldn’t even do that right,” she scoffed.

Phryne asked her why. Why had she felt the need to kill her husband. By all accounts he was a harmless man, and she had been able to do as she pleased. What had changed?

For the first time, Hazel Winters began to show some emotion.

“Sylvester Winters was the biggest mistake of my life and I came to hate him with every fiber of my being,” she said. “He took everything from me, even things I hadn’t known I wanted. I never wanted children. Then to be carrying the child of such an imbecilic man and being forced to marry him. I never forgave father for that.

But I was smart, and I had a plan. I just needed to get rid the baby, and then my father. I would come into my inheritance and divorce Sy. He didn’t want to be saddled with a family any more than I did. I was sure I could throw a little money his way and be done with him.

Then I began to feel the child growing inside of me and it was like nothing I’d ever known. She was mine. A part of me. Something no one could take away. I altered my plan.

My father would still need to die so I could get my inheritance. Then I’d divorce Sy, and I, and my child, could live happily.

It took a little longer than I’d hoped. I had to be careful with the poison, so that his death would look natural, but soon enough I’d taken care of one obstacle. I was preparing to start divorce proceedings when the courts gave half of what was mine to my idiot brother and husband, leaving me with a pittance.

Then I lost my child. One day I could feel her kicking inside me and the next, she was gone. I was so close. She was only three weeks too early. They didn’t even let me see her.”

Tears streamed down her face, but she remained sitting tall and proud, her voice never wavered.

“Sy saw her,” she said bitterly. “The doctors, in all their wisdom, deemed the father strong enough to handle it, but not me. Not the mother, who had carried her. I never got to hold her, or tell her that she was loved. And to make matters worse, they told me I’d never be able to have another child.

I might have been able to live with it. To settle into the separate lives Sy and I agreed to live. I found ways to find, if not happiness, at least satisfaction, and some enjoyment in life, but he kept taking from me.

Sy would live in squalor if not for me. He had no head for business. I kept us comfortable. I kept us afloat, and he took all the credit. When I found out he was dipping into my accounts, I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to let him drag me down any longer. I couldn’t divorce him without losing too much of my wealth. He’d already squandered more than his fair share. Besides, I wanted the satisfaction of looking him in the eye while I took everything from him.

And you know what? I don’t regret it.”

The tears had stopped and she was once again in icy control of herself, and her emotions.

Jack rose and called for Constable Bett to return Mrs. Winters to her cell. Phryne sat at the interview table in stunned silence. The woman seemed to have had everything. The wealth and freedom to live as she pleased. Friends that cared for her. All the outward appearance of being content, yet she’d lived most of her life seething with resentment.

Resentment at having been told how to live, at having been overlooked and under appreciated. Never living up to her potential, or seen as an intelligent woman in her own right. Her entire adult life had been one of pretense.

Jack was equally astonished. It seemed such a horrible waste. It had all come down to money and power.

Hazel Winters really was an extremely capable woman. But, the way she used her gifts was deplorable. First to so coldly murder her own father, and then husband and to have been so selfish as to have risked her friend’s life and ruin the Sladers.

Here were two people that had done nothing wrong their entire lives. They’d worked hard to live with the little they had, and cared for their own. To have exploited the love the man had for his child was pure evil. Jack would have a hard time feeling any sympathy for the woman, regardless of what she may have suffered. She was not the victim here.

He sat down on the table in front of Phryne and reached for her hand. She looked up at him with a sad smile.

“You frightened me today,” she said. “When I heard those shots, and knew you were inside, alone, without me to help you...”

She gripped his hand in both of hers, and looked into his eyes, hoping he could see in them what she was unable to say.

“I’m fine, Phryne,” he said.

“Don’t do that again,” she said.

“I believe I’ve made that same request of you, and you’ve blithely ignored it,” he said smiling fondly at her.

She bobbled her head back and forth, rolling her eyes, but returned his smile.

“If you won’t promise me that, then at least promise me that we won’t waste any more time, Jack,” she said.

“That I will promise,” he said, glancing around, before leaning forward to plant a quick, but fervent, kiss on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There really is a diet that is said to help with epileptic seizures. It's call a Ketogenic diet, high in fats and low in carbohydrates. It was used in the 1920's and still is today. I have no idea if there were clinics of this type back then, but imagine it would have been an expensive to keep to such a diet, so I made up the idea, as a solution for the Sladers that would be out of reach financially, and lead them to desperate measures.
> 
> My own daughter suffered with seizures when younger. They were partial, and benign and she outgrew them, so we were very lucky, but they are a very frightening thing, and I don't mean to make light of their seriousness. I hope I haven't offended anyone with the storyline.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes up his mind and the couple settle into a new life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got very sentimental, and this last chapter and epilogue are very sappy and fluffy, but hopefully it's a satisfying end to my story.

When Jack had finished his recitation of recent events, Vivian Lawrence sat back heavily in the chair, looking stunned. Phryne poured a small glass of whiskey from the bottle on Jack’s file cabinet and pressed it into her hand.

“How is this possible? We’ve known each other nearly our entire lives,” Vivian said. “Apparently, I didn’t really know Hazel at all."

Suddenly aware of the glass in her hand, she downed the contents in one gulp.

She paused and looked from Phryne to Jack. “This man. The one that took my necklace. He has a child that is ill?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “I’m afraid Mrs. Winters was able to use that to persuade him. He was desperate for a way to afford his daughter’s treatment. He is very remorseful.”

“Is the treatment helping?”

“It’s too early to say for Violet Slader, but Dr. MacMillan tells me it is promising, and has been shown to reduce the number and severity of seizures. But, it’s rather a moot point now,” Phryne said.

“Why is that?’ Vivian asked.

“Well, the Slader’s can’t afford to keep Violet at the clinic, and without Tom to help, Jenny Slader will most likely have to give up her job to stay home with her child. How she’ll manage even basic care with no income, heaven knows.”

“What if I were unable to identify Tom Slader as my attacker?” Vivian said.

“What do you mean,” Jack said, exchanging a hopeful glance with Phryne that was so brief, and enigmatic, only she would’ve have understood it.

“Well, it is my necklace, and if I decline to press charges, what would happen?” Vivian asked.

“We have Mrs. Winters’ confession and admittance to his being complicit in her plan,” Jack said.

“Yes,” Vivian said, “but she is a liar and a murderer. How reliant is her word? And, besides, she is not the injured party here. If I declare there has been no injury, what case have you against him?”

“There is his own confession,” Jack continued, “but if you are not interested in pursuing a remedy, I’m guessing the prosecutor would just as soon have this one go away in order to concentrate on Mrs. Winters. Slader is a sympathetic character, Hazel Winters is not. Her case is where the prosecutor will make his name. The papers will have a field day.”

“I have my necklace, my wounds have healed with no lasting damage, and the man has a family that needs him. I’d just as soon this whole thing be over with, and I think I’d even like to help them,” she said. “I’d like to help pay for their daughter’s care.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Phryne said. “And I believe between you, Mac and I, along with a complete exoneration from the police, we should be able to convince the hospital to let Mr. Slader keep his job.”

They saw Miss Lawrence out, and Jack walked Phryne to her car.

“Will I see you later?” she asked.

“I want to see to Tom Slader’s release immediately, and then there’s the report to finish up. I may not make it over tonight,” he said, wearily.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere, so come if you can,” she said. “You know you’re always welcome, and wanted.”

After a talk with the prosecutor, it was decided there would be no charge, and Tom Slader was gobsmacked to find that, not only would Miss Lawrence not be pressing charges, but, she wanted to help his Violet as well. He left the station in tears to go home and tell his wife the news.

Jack sat down to write his report, and the fact that he’d, once again, gone over 30 hours without sleep began to catch up with him. The report could wait, whatever he wrote now was likely to be gibberish.

He looked at the clock. It was almost six. He could go home, sit alone eating a sad little supper made with the meager contents of his cupboard, and then fall, exhausted into bed. Or, he could enjoy one of Mr. Butler’s delicious meals, with good company, and then fall into bed with the woman he loved beside him, or better yet, in his arms.

He knew he’d be welcome at Phryne’s, even if he was tired, and not very entertaining. He went home and packed a small case, and with a spring in his step that belied his lack of sleep, headed out his front door.

“Are you going out of town, Inspector Robinson?”

Mrs. Filson stood on the walk in front of his home. Her small, white, fluff-ball of a dog yapping madly, and straining at its leash.

“I will be away from home, Mrs. Filson,” he said, evasively. “Just for a night. Or, possibly two.”

“It seems I rarely see you anymore. You’re so seldom around. Your garden has begun to look slightly neglected,” she said, with a sniff.

He looked back and realized she was right. It was very unlike him. He enjoyed taking care of his gardens. It was just that other things, or rather, another person, held more appeal these days. It really was unfair to the neighbors to leave his yard in such a sad state.

“You’re right, Mrs. Filson,” he said, agreeably. “Perhaps this home is becoming too much for me. I may have to think about making a change.”

He tipped his hat to her, with a smile, and humming a cheery tune, headed down the street to catch the tram.

* * *

 

Then, you’ve made up your mind?” she said, plopping down onto his lap and throwing her arms around his neck.

“I still need to talk to Hugh,” he said. “But, I’d like to, Phryne. I’d like to very much. As long as you are sure.”

“I’m sure, Jack. I was my idea!” she said.

“Will you still be so proud of that if it turns out to be a terrible one?” he said.

“Do you want to be with me?”

“More than anything.”

“And I feel the same way, so how could this possibly be a bad idea?” she said. “Unless you’re afraid it won’t be enough for you.”

He shook his head.

“You know that I love you,” he said, to which she gave a shy nod of her head. “And for me, that always meant marriage. I was so stuck in that mindset that I never even asked myself what it was about marriage that appealed to me. Why it was that I wanted it.”

“And why do you want it?” she asked. “What does it mean to you?”

“I’ve always thought of marriage as a symbol of two people’s commitment to one another. A way to say to each other, and to the world, that you are the partner of my choosing and I am yours, and we will do our best to be there for each other and always put the other first,” he said. “I never thought about it as a contract. I never saw the way it could make a woman seem less than, to diminish her in the eyes of society. Rosie and I didn’t have much, and she was content with her role as a wife. It was what she wanted. It is not what you want, and perhaps not for the reasons I thought.”

“You thought my only objection was the idea of committing to one man,” she said, “Am I right?”

“Yes,” he said. “And I had my own insecurities in that direction. I guess I hoped for some kind of guarantee. I found it hard to believe that I could be enough for you. Still do, if I’m being totally honest.”

“Jack,” she said, softly, laying her hand on his cheek. He covered it with his own, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t need your reassurance, and we both know a marriage license is not a guarantee of fidelity, anyway,” he said, “I think I realize now that marriage is more complicated than just publicly making a commitment to another person. You’re afraid of losing your identity.”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” she said. “Marriage, to me, always had a way of making a woman fade. I saw it happen to people I knew. Strong, intelligent women suddenly disappeared behind their husbands. When they were courting, they’d walk at each other’s side, arm in arm. Then later, the husband would often walk ahead, his wife following a few feet behind.”

Jack had noticed that about some men. They walked so far in front, that the trailing woman could fall in a hole, and the man would never notice. He’d just keep on walking, head held high, until he wanted her again, and then look round, wondering where on earth she’d gone. Jack imagined the man might not even be concerned by her absence, just irritated that she wasn’t were he expected her to be.

“I don’t worry that _you_ would stop treating me as an equal, and I don’t hesitate due to a lack of commitment to you,” she sighed. “I don’t know that I can explain this properly. Maybe it’s just in my nature to always be a bit contrary, but I don’t want society's blessing of what we have. I don’t see the need,” she said. “I am who I am, and you are who you are, and we choose to be together. It’s as simple as that for me. No one else need sanctify it. Does that make any sense?”

“It does,” he said. “Moreover, I would never want to be entitled, by law, to what is yours. I would hate for people to attribute your accomplishments to me. And truthfully, no matter how many times I’ve tried to picture you as Phryne Robinson, I can’t. You are Phryne Fisher. A remarkable, strong, independent, and amazing woman. That’s the woman I’ve chosen. That is the woman I love.”

“Dear God, Jack Robinson,” she said, swallowing the lump that was rising in her throat. “How on earth could I do anything but love you?”

“Do you?”

“You know I do.”

“Yes, but I like to hear you say it.”

“I love you, Jack Robinson.”

“Take me upstairs, and show me?” he said, smiling in such an innocent, and boyish way, that she felt a joy bubble up inside her, and nearly giggled like a school girl.

Despite his utter exhaustion, Jack managed to summon the energy to thoroughly enjoy making love to Phryne Fisher, and he prided himself it was equally enjoyable for her.

It was early morning now, and he was awake, feeling a growing desire for her and debating whether or not to rouse her. He wondered when it would stop feeling like this. When the desire would lessen. Maybe it never would, but, if there was a chance that it might, he decided it best to take advantage of the here and now.

He reached for her. She lay splayed out on her stomach. Taking up far more than her fair share of the bed, as she often did.

Starting at the midpoint between her shoulder blades, he slid his hand slowly down, feeling each vertebrae through the silk sheet covering her. When he reached the hollow at the base of her spine, he slid his palm back and forth, just above the lovely mound her bottom formed.

She sighed, and squirmed a little. He proceeded on, letting his hand cup her firm bottom, squeezing gently and pulling himself closer to her side, so that he was pressed up against her.

“Good morning, Jack,” she purred, without turning her head to look at him, or moving to return his touch.

“Good morning,” he rumbled in her ear, before tracing his tongue around the edge and taking her lobe gently between his teeth. His hand pressed between her thighs, feeling the heat coming off her through the thin barrier of the sheet. She rolled over and took him, rather suddenly, into her warm, soft hand, and squeezed.

“Gaahh” he said, inarticulately.

“What was that, darling?” she said, coyly, as her hand slid up and down his length.

“Eager this morning, aren’t you?” he said, a very dirty smile forming on his lips as he slipped his hand under the sheet, finding a breast to caress, and rolling the hardening nub between his thumb and forefinger.

“ _You_ woke _me_ ,” she said, sliding her hand around his hip and pressing against him. “Was I expected to just lay there, and let you have your way with me?”

“Definitely not,” he said, pushing her onto her back and attaching his lips to her neck, “I much prefer your equal participation.”

She opened her legs to let him between them, his hand brushed lightly over her, testing her readiness. If that didn’t convince him, she made him sure by taking him again in hand and guiding him to her.

All his thoughts of a slow seduction flew from his brain, and he thrust himself into her. Over and over, letting himself feel the wonder of being inside her, enveloped by her. Her arms and legs wound around him, as her mouth found his, her tongue sliding in and mimicking the action of their hips.

He pulled back to look into her eyes, and stilled, slowly drawing himself almost completely from her and, then pushing gently back in, pressing firmly to her each time, to get as deep inside as possible.

If he could, he’d have crawled inside her entirely. This is where he always wanted to be. Connected to her so intimately, sharing the same space, breathing the same air, their skin so close and hot he thought they might fuse together and truly become one. He was vaguely aware of the sounds she made, the feel of her nails on his back and the way she arched up to meet him.

When he came, it wasn’t an explosive rush, but a quiet, intimate giving of himself, and all of his being to her. He felt her gentle shudder, as she took him, her hands tightening around him, and then stroking lovingly down his back as he rested against her shoulder, his forehead pressed up to her cheek.

A warm drop of moisture fell against his skin and wasn’t surprised to look up and see a tear rolling down her face. He was feeling a similar rush of emotion, his own eyes filling.

“Silly me,” she said, reaching up to wipe away the tear.

“Phryne,” he said. His voice low and close, “how I love you.”

“You’ve ruined me, Jack Robinson,” she said, smiling in a way that said she didn’t much mind.

* * *

 

Jack was surprised when Hugh came through the back door into the kitchen as he sat having morning tea with Mr. Butler. Phryne had returned to sleeping after their early morning exertion, but he had to get up and go to work.

“Good morning, sir, Mr. Butler,” Hugh said, nodding to the men in turn. “I took a chance I might find you here, sir. Would you mind if I walk to the station with you? I’d like to speak with you about something.”

Hugh started out a bit fumbling and jittery, explaining that Dottie had asked him to broach the subject. Whatever that might be.

“You know Dottie and I are expecting our second child,” he said.

“Yes, of course,” Jack said. Dot was around three months along, and Jack thought perhaps Hugh wanted to ask for a raise in pay. He was working toward that for him, along with a promotion, but he didn’t want to say anything until he was sure he would succeed.

“I’m don’t want to interfere, but, well, Dottie thought,” Hugh stumbled. “Never mind sir, this is really not my place.”

“What is it Hugh?” Jack said. “I like to think we are more than just co-workers. I’m very fond of both you and Mrs. Collins. I hope you feel you can talk to me on a personal level.”

“I do, sir,” he said.

“Then maybe you could try calling me Jack outside of work?”

Hugh gave him a surprised look and a little smile.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Jack asked.

“Well, Dottie and I, we very much like our living arrangements. It’s very convenient for both of us, being so close to our jobs, and having Miss Fisher for a neighbor. It’s just that the constant stream of new tenants next door can be tiresome.”

Jack suddenly saw Phryne’s hand in this, and wondered if Hugh knew how often he was manipulated by the women in his life. That alone would have been enough to convince Jack to move in next door. If only to protect this trusting young man from the machinations of his all too clever lover, not to mention the man’s own wife.

Hugh really needn’t have bothered listing the reasons for Jack to take up the lease. Once he knew Hugh was open to it, Jack’s mind was made up, but he let Hugh continue on for awhile.

“Are you sure about this Hugh?” Jack said, stopping on the sidewalk outside of the station. He wanted to finish this before stepping foot inside. “You don’t think you’d find my presence unwelcome after a long day at work?”

“Not at all. As long as I’m not expected to answer your calls while off duty,” Hugh joked. “But, I know you have your own place, maybe you wouldn’t like to uproot yourself?”

“I think we can drop the pretense, Hugh. You know better than most how seldom I am at my own place these days. In fact, I hate to point this out, but I’m fairly sure this idea was not entirely your wife’s.”

“That had occurred to me,” Hugh said, “But, I do think it’s a nice idea. This latest tenant is a crabby man. Doesn’t like kids, and you seem to enjoy our Charley.”

“Charley?” Jack said, puzzled.

“Yes,” Hugh said. “I’d just as soon call her Charlotte, it’s a lovely name and the one we chose, but Dottie insists on using a nickname and I can’t abide calling her Lottie. Dottie and Lottie? It’s too silly. On protest, I’m calling her Charley. I think it suits her better, anyway. Perhaps, I can recruit you over to my side?”

While he thought Hugh might be due to win one battle, he decided it best to stay neutral.

“If I’m to be your neighbor, I’d hate to begin by getting off on the wrong foot with Mrs. Colllins. I think I’ll stick with Charlotte, until the child decides for herself.”

He informed his landlord that day of his intention to quit his lease. Once the terrace home had been vacated by the current tenant, he and Phryne spent several of his days off painting the place to suit him. It was surprisingly fun, and he very much liked seeing her in the old togs she donned for the work. She looked rather splendid with a scarf tied around her head and a splotch of paint on her cheek.

On the day he moved in, they worked all day, and Phryne brought down a basket of food for an early supper, which they shared, picnic style, by the hearth. When they’d finished, she turned to sit cross legged facing him with a very serious expression on her face.

“I’d like to mark this occasion,” she said.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, his voice dropping and his eyes darkening.

“Well, that, of course,” she said, “But later. I’ve something I want to show you first. Come with me.”

She stood and reached for his hand, pulling him to his feet and out into the back yard. She had to do this before the sun had set. From her pocket she fished a small ring. It had a silver band and a round brilliant, bluish, mossy-green gem surrounded by small diamonds.

“See this stone?” she said. “The blue-green color makes me think of your eyes. Now, come back inside.”

He followed, intrigued. She held the ring under a lamp. Now the gem was red. A lovely, warm raspberry shade. She watched him, enjoying the confused expression on his face.

“It’s called Alexandrite, and it’s quite rare. Much like our partnership, I think,” she said. “From now on, I will always wear this.”

She handed it to him and held out her hand.

“Will you put it on?” she asked.

He was astonished by her gesture.

“Shouldn’t I be the one to have gotten a ring for you?”

“No,” she said simply. “This is my private message to you. It’s my way of saying that you are always with me, in my heart, and that I choose you above all others.”

He turned the little ring over in his hand, blinking back tears.

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t need a guarantee, you know,” he said.

“It’s not a guarantee. It’s a promise. And, just say that you love me.”

He slipped the ring onto her finger, and along with telling her how very much he loved her, he showed her, repeatedly.

* * *

 

In the coming months, he and Phryne became more familiar with each other’s moods, sensing when one of them needed solitude or time to unwind. He would retreat to his cozy parlor and enjoy a book, or some music.

Her preferred method of stress release was a night on the town. He loved hearing her let herself into his home after she’d been out drinking or dancing with friends. He gave her a hard time about abusing her rights as a landlord, but would have been disappointed if she hadn’t.

Not long after he’d moved in, Phryne threw an extravagantly large party for Charlotte’s first birthday. Jack was very sure that the child could not have cared less, but the rest of the guests, including Dr. Mac, Bert, Cec, Aunt P. and even Mr. Butler, once they’d convinced him to relax, spilled out into the garden, laughing and talking until late into the night.

A few months later, when Hugh came to say Dot had gone into labor, Jack and Mr. Butler looked after Charlotte, while Phryne drove the young couple to hospital. They were all on hand when baby Theo came home.

Improbably, rather later in life, and very differently than he’d ever imagined, Jack found he had a family.

 

**Epilogue**

* * *

 

Phryne Fisher rose from bed, and pulled her silk robe around her, tying the sash as she strolled toward the window. She shifted the curtain and peeked out, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight.

Just as she’d expected she saw the two heads, one with burnished gold, wavy locks, the other, white blond, tumbling curls. If she wasn’t mistaken, they were bent over the cherry tomatoes, the child’s favorite.

Phryne walked to the hall and out onto the balcony, arriving in time to see him straighten to his full height, and reach down to ruffle the blond curls. He said something that made the girl giggle, and she looked up at him, her little nose scrunched up as she laughed, and raised her arms, imploring him to pick her up. When he did, laughing in return, and settling her in the crook of his elbow, she held a small tomato to his lips until he opened his mouth and let her pop it in.

Phryne wrapped her arms tight around herself, smiling. She could stand there all day watching them, but decided it would be even more fun to join them, and was about to turn back inside to dress, when Charlotte spied her, pointing her chubby hand at the balcony, shouting, “Aunty P!”

“Good morning, my little darling!” she cried back.

“Just barely, Miss Fisher,” he said, the deep, rich sound easily reaching the balcony. “It’s nearly noon. Aunt Phryne is very lazy, isn’t she?” he said to the child.

“Well, I was kept quite busy last night, and early this morning. I needed to catch up on my sleep,” she called, almost able to see him blush, even at this distance.

Dot appeared, coming from the back of her house, a tray in her hands and little Theo toddling alongside, hanging onto her skirt. Hugh came behind and pulled the little boy off of his mother, tossing him in the air, making him squeal with joy.

“I thought it might be time for some refreshments. I’ve made lemonade,” Dot said. Spying Phryne, she called up, “Will you be joining us, miss?”

“Pour me a glass, Dot. I’ll be right down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you on tumblr might recognize a few influences here. One being a post about Jack and Phryne painting together, and the other from the recent 6 questions video where Nathan Page talks about his kitchen garden. There are probably others that slipped in without my even noticing them!
> 
> I had a very good time with this story. It got so much bigger than I initially intended it to be, and now, 40,000 some words later, I'm almost sorry to be done with it. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone that read it, left kudos and comments. I really appreciate all of it!

**Author's Note:**

> In researching Phryne's house I found that the original owner and builder of Wardlow had many other real estate holdings. Initially he built two terrace houses on the lot adjacent to where Wardlow would be built. Those two homes, along with Wardlow and other properties, were part of the family compound. In my story, Phryne buys the two original terrace homes and puts them to good use.


End file.
